


Who By Fire

by thegrumblingirl



Series: assassins don't take sides [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christ I didn't say I'd make it easy for y'all, Developing Relationship, Dishonored: The Brigmore Witches, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Low Chaos (Dishonored), M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, POV Alternating, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, the Whalers are all Yentas, yes still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2018-11-21 14:30:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 89,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11359395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/pseuds/thegrumblingirl
Summary: Corvo opened his eyes to the familiar darkness of his quarters.“I am not your friend,” he growled, still half-caught in that endless cold."And yet, you speak to me." Corvo clenched his teeth and rolled his eyes at the disembodied voice that followed him from the Void. At least this one he didn’t have to hold in his hands as it beat a little quieter each day.Corvo and Daud take on a mad witch named Delilah.Sequel toIt Seemed the Better Way.Playlist onSpotify. eBook versions available:Vol. 1&Vol. 2.





	1. Who By Fire, Who By Water (Corvo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in his rightful place, Corvo struggles to find his footing. Daud faces the insistence of the Empress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aahahahaha so I'm back, so settle IN, friends! To everyone who read _It Seemed the Better Way_ from the beginning and is now back for more, welcome back, I love you! To everyone who just stumbled upon this absolute disaster, I welcome you heartily and hope you like your fluff with a side of suffering and really weird missions.
> 
> I got the chapter count right this time, so 16 it is and 16 it will **stay** , or so help me. Updates will be posted every Friday, as per.
> 
> POV will alternate, a slight deviation from sticking to one character for longer periods of time in Part 1. Corvo's gonna take the first throw, giving you the (quite detailed) run-down of what's been going on since the Overseers attacked the Hound Pits pub and then Emily's coronation in the Month of Ice.
> 
> I'll be updating the playlist every week, if you wanna listen along to what I put on repeat while editing: [listen on youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).  
> It's also available on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/ama_23/playlist/2Z4scYeDqJb2kfZLOZrqF2?si=ZDhV_FDrTDuoxniAcccOrw).
> 
> Onwards!

**_An island in the Void, 26 th Day of Seeds_ ** _. Voices carried though the black on leviathans’ breath. Drifting closer, a man, standing before another with black eyes, as much as the latter was a man only in shape, and only because it was an indulgence to those he wished to see him so._

_“I warned you, Corvo, a storm is coming.”_

_“You warned Daud that his time is running out.”_

_“It’s curious, isn’t it, how this worries you more than him. How much you care. A pity, truly.”_

_“What is?”_

_“He would not believe me if I told him. I will see you again, old friend.”_

Corvo opened his eyes to the familiar darkness of his quarters.

“I am not your friend,” he growled, still half-caught in that endless cold.

 _And yet, you speak to me._ Corvo clenched his teeth and rolled his eyes at the disembodied voice that followed him from the Void. At least this one he didn’t have to hold in his hands as it beat a little quieter each day.

***

**Three weeks earlier.**

“Your Majesty, I truly think it would be wise if an independent committee of scientists from the Academy of Natural Philosophy were to… observe the work that Sokolov and Joplin are doing in manufacturing the Cure,” Lord Farland repeated for what must have been the third time that week, wringing his hands.

It had not escaped Corvo’s – nor, indeed, Emily’s – notice that even though Piero and Sokolov were the two most pre-eminent scientists currently alive, their close ties to the Crown made not just Lord Farland uneasy. Sokolov had been Jessamine’s court physician, yes, and beyond that the inventor who had succeeded where Roseburrow had despaired, weaponising whale oil; but he had been infamous for his escapades and outrageous scientific theories alone (which Jessamine had never granted him the funding to test, generous offer of a fully equipped laboratory at the Tower or no, but the old man had his ways of swindling the rich out of their coin, not least because the portraits he painted cost a _fortune_ ).

Now, however, his involvement in a plot to restore the Kaldwin throne, even as a response to the original conspiracy to kill the Empress and abduct her daughter only to instate a Regency and use her as a figurehead, proved to be the mark on Sokolov’s record that sparked the greatest suspicion. Piero, already disreputable after his expulsion from the Academy, had finally broken the bloodox’ back – the announcement that he would be staying at Dunwall Tower along with his colleague and be given a lab, using Jessamine's old plans and specifications, to work on an improved version of his elixir had sent Emily’s council into a fair frenzy.

“We’ve discussed this, Lord Farland,” Emily responded in such an uncanny echo of her mother’s stubbornness in an impasse much like this that Corvo settled for shifting his weight from one foot to the other in lieu of otherwise betraying his thoughts. He knew he had to stop – to see Jessamine in everything Emily did, and not only because it did her a huge disservice. She was her own person, she would establish her own rule, and it would not serve her to be compared to her mother every damn time she so much as lifted a fork to eat her dinner. But more than that, Corvo knew that more than time and the constant fear of losing her, it would be the reminders of Jessamine’s loss that would destroy him, if he let them. As it was, Emily still slept in her old rooms, Jessamine's quarters unchanged except for the dust settling on things her hands would never touch again.

“Your Majesty, I merely fear that the public would be slow to trust the effectiveness of the Cure, if it can be produced, if the process is so shrouded in secrecy,” Lord Herrendahl spoke up now, noticing that his learned colleague was flagging in the face of Emily’s utter lack of cooperation on the matter.

“I’ve witnessed the effects of the rat plague with my own eyes,” Emily held firm, referring to the time when Daud and Corvo had gone down into the sewers below the pub and rooted out a nest of Weepers, bringing them back topside unconscious, but alive, or what passed for it when the disease had progressed that far. They had allowed Piero and Sokolov to collect blood and tissue samples for their research, and then a Whaler patrol had taken the infected to the Flooded District, leaving them to the mercy of the City Watch quarantine. This had not sat well with Emily, watching from a safe distance, but at the time it had been their only option. All the more determined was she now to ensure Piero and Sokolov had what they needed to finally find a way to eradicate the disease.

At her revelation, the assembled nobles were visibly distraught, and Corvo set his jaw, anticipating having to add ‘dispel fears of the Empress being infected’ to his current list of duties and worries. No-one dared to speak out, however, and so Emily continued, “And after what I have seen, I should think that the public will take just about anything if it carries the hope of protecting them and curing those who have already been affected.”

At this, even Herrendahl subsided with a deferential nod at the Empress. Shortly after, the council adjourned, and as Corvo escorted Emily back to her chambers, he couldn’t help but dread the many, many more sessions just like this in their future.

Corvo knew full well that this was not merely partly due to the official history’s… neatness. History was never as clear cut as official court historians would like everyone to believe, to be laid out in pages upon pages of chronicles of _The History of the Isles_. It was as unknown as the jungles of Pandyssia to anyone who hadn’t been there themselves, Corvo thought, and he had made generous use of that fact when testifying before Parliament and the Court as to the events of the past nine months.

* * *

Nine months – nigh on a year, six months passed since Jessamine’s death. There were rumours, there was truth, and then there was what teachers across the Empire would tell their students as the years wore on, long after Corvo himself was all but forgotten. Some omissions were born from necessity, to protect those who had risked their lives to help them – civilians such as Sam, Callista, Lydia, Cecilia, and Wallace – or to ensure Emily’s safety above all else, such as suppressing news of the Overseer invasion to prevent an outright conflict with the Order. The biggest lie, however, was the one that left a man-shaped void, a curious sense of something missing in all future tellings of the story, his existence construed precisely by the absence of all evidence.

Daud. Corvo had granted his request and excised him from history, and it had been almost embarrassingly easy to do so. With Campbell branded as a heretic and missing, Lady Boyle dead, the Pendleton twins sent packing to their own mines, and Burrows awaiting his execution at Coldridge, there had been no-one there to contradict him. Of course, there would have been the guards and Overseers who had apprehended them, the guard who had shot Jessamine… and who had fled Dunwall only days after her death, as Corvo had discovered after his return to the Tower and, thus, his old network. Eye witnesses were scarce, and so Corvo lied, lied that he did not know who had been the assassin sent to kill the late Empress, lied that he had been warned by someone else, someone who had knowledge of Burrows’ dealings with the underworld, and lied that he and a small contingent of trusted officers had fought their way out that day, but lost Jessamine to the traitors among the Watch.

All too aware of the things he’d done during the months that followed - half of Parliament under Daud’s thumb by way of blackmail and extortion, a complex machinery that they’d set in motion after the Pendleton mission, and the other half too relieved for words to have reclaimed order without government upheaval - Dunwall’s aristocracy waived their right to a more thorough investigation and accepted his word, down to every duplicitous claim that deflected attention away from the Whalers and the question of heresy. High Overseer Martin had been present, too, watching silently and keeping a tight leash on those in his entourage who would have liked to see the Royal Protector beheaded for practising black magic. And to think that what protected him now was nothing but a pair gloves and the folds of his coat — as Corvo stood before the Court and spun his tale, an insurmountable weight rested against his chest. The Heart, carrying the spirit of the Empress they had lost; and no-one knew how close and yet forever out of reach she truly was in that moment.

As he detailed the circumstances of her abduction, Corvo swore the Heart beat faster against his. Since his return to the Tower, he still kept it on him most days, simply because he did not trust the security even of his own room, not for now. He did not know what would happen beyond this, however long she could remain within the confines of her vessel. But she was connected to the Void, and so as long as Corvo carried the Mark, he would remain connected to her as well.

After the parliamentary hearing, Corvo had marched himself back to the Tower and then his quarters, where he’d pretended he was fine for long enough to send the maid and steward away. Then, he’d staggered to the bathroom, dropped to his knees, and thrown up until all he had left to give was the bile burning in the back of his throat.

He was no stranger to secrets: he had kept Jessamine’s for well over a decade, both private and those that, if revealed, could have shaken Dunwall politics apart. (To be fair, their private secrets could have achieved that just as easily.) Plenty of the things he’d done had never made it to public record, and with good reason. For all that Jessamine’s rule had been just and fair and her intentions to defend and protect those in need, her father’s reign had been tranquil compared to hers. In hindsight, it was almost too obvious to pinpoint the descent of Daud on Dunwall – not the first, but the second time, as he had inferred from Daud’s confession months ago; after his travels to shrines and witches’ hide-outs across the Empire. Some called it a culling, others a massacre, and the fact was that Corvo had let the matter remain in the hands of the City Watch and the Abbey for years, instead of hunting Daud down himself and putting an end to the carnage. The fact was that Corvo hadn’t exactly mourned every noble who had died quick on an assassin’s blade.

Perhaps it was fitting, then, that Corvo’s first act as Royal Protector and Spymaster to Empress Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin I had been to present the Empire of the Isles with a lie so egregious that, had he still been a young man in Karnaca, hungry and with the attitude to match his patchy clothing, it would have encouraged him to set fire to the paper it was printed on – or perhaps the propaganda officer reading the joyful news to an indifferent audience.

The only thing he had to justify this to himself, the only way he could, was that it would serve a peaceful transition. Emily’s reign would be contested, long past her first few months on the throne, and it would be far easier to contest if it was revealed that she’d spent half a year hidden away in a pub, protected by the Whalers – protected by Daud himself, while her subjects were left in limbo and fear of either death by the Plague or a tyrannical interregnum; and that she was now expected to lead the Empire out of this crisis, assisted by none other than her common-born father, who many still saw as nothing but an interloper from the south. Her parentage might have been the worst-kept secret, as Pendleton had put it during his interrogation, while Jessamine was alive, but at least people had had respect enough not to say it to her face. Plenty had stage-whispered it at his retreating back, unfortunately preferring to do so in situations when a drawn blade would have cast a pall on the occasion.

Following council sessions, Emily had expressed, on more than one occasion, her frustration with those among the bureaucracy that served the Crown who reacted with mockery to the plight of Dunwall’s citizens, especially children in the poorest parts of town. All in all, she had ‘expressed her frustration’ with having to attend so many council meetings in general, but Corvo had only budged in so far as to agree to look out for suitable additions to her staff of advisors.

“How bad was it?” Callista had asked him when they’d returned from one such session and Emily had immediately run to her room to read and draw and do things that she _liked_ —

“She’s bored to tears,” Corvo had admitted bluntly, and as much as he sympathised (the advisors Emily had inherited from her mother were every bit as brittle as he remembered them), there was no way around it. If she was to rule, this was the way she would learn how.

* * *

Today, he delivered her to her tutors for history lessons, of all things, and checked both lengths of the hallway before bending down to drop a kiss on the top of her head.

“Study well, Majesty,” he said, his outward expression immune to her unimpressed look even as he secretly enjoyed ribbing her.

When he had ascertained that she was in good hands, Corvo turned to make his way to his own study. Taking on the double duty of royal bodyguard and spymaster meant that he had twice the paperwork and three times the manpower to command. That, in theory, would have been a good thing, but Corvo distrusted everyone who’d continued to work at Dunwall Tower during his absence.

As it was, a small contingent of Whalers was helping him weed out the corrupt officers and guards, persuading them to resign or request a transfer; but this could not go on for much longer, not least because he was loath to permanently pull the men away from Daud’s efforts to look into what was going on at Brigmore Manor. It was bad enough that Rinaldo had refused Corvo’s refusal of his offer of service in disguise; Corvo knew full well that Daud had only agreed to dispatch him permanently out of consideration for Emily’s safety. He did not, however, want to rely solely on support from Captain Curnow and his own loyal officers, for distrust in the ranks could cause even more harm in the long term – he’d seen first-hand what happened when institutions designed to protect (or, as critics would have it, control) the public turned their eyes within themselves and began policing their own. The Order had rent itself in its own blood for decades by sowing the seeds of denunciation, and no matter his own misgivings, Corvo had no desire to see the Watch go down that same path, not if it could be helped.

The continued presence of the Arc Pylon at the Hound Pits proved to be a sufficient deterrent, to keep Overseer Pike from renewing the charge after Hume’s miserable failure. The Overseers involved in the surge had been collected and interrogated, then sent back to Holger Square and a deceptively soft-spoken High Overseer. The fact that this attack had been planned not only without Martin's authorisation but without his _knowledge_ proved to Corvo that their solution to the vacuum that had resulted when they'd removed Campbell could only ever be temporary. Having eyes and ears in the Abbey yielded them nothing if they were blind on one and deaf on the other.

“Lord Attano,” a lower Watch guard approached him outside his quarters, handing him a note. “This was delivered by courier.”

“Thank you, Simmons,” Corvo accepted the letter. “You can go.”

“Sir.” A new recruit, Simmons gave a deeper bow than many of his more experienced colleagues, then left, his steps still buoyed by the sense of importance his new position gave him.

Stepping inside, Corvo recognised the paper that the Whalers tended to use for their reports. The stock that the royal supplier delivered to Dunwall Tower was thicker, and this was rougher, beige rather than white, and more prone to bleaching out in sunlight. In one word, cheaper, even than what the City Watch used, and certainly less costly than the missives Corvo received from the office of the High Overseer.

Corvo would know it anywhere – he’d written his own reports, notes, and letters on it for months; and a sizeable stack of them that he kept on his desk reminded him of that time.

Not knowing what to expect, Corvo was surprised when he unfolded the note to be met with Daud’s handwriting as well as a second sheaf of different paper, also folded. He sat down at his desk, reading the letter first.

> _Corvo —_
> 
> _Between keeping an eye on Holger Square and scouring for leads on Brigmore, I don’t have as many people to play courier for me, at least not when the destination’s the Tower. Still, I’ll send Kieron out before noon._
> 
> _I’ve attached an excerpt from a pamphlet that was brought to my attention some weeks ago. It might pay to read it with some regard for what you’ve told me about Emily’s dissatisfaction with her advisors._
> 
> _Until tomorrow,_
> 
> _Daud_

His eyebrows climbing until they just about met his hairline, Corvo read the letter over two more times. It was… impertinence, in some fashion, to reference matters of state so bluntly, though of course that alone was not what drew Corvo’s attention. It was _who_ was making the reference or, rather, the recommendation. Corvo had had to endure his share of unsolicited opinions from most everyone at Court over the years – it was then that he’d understood that as Royal Protector, he was not just expected to step between the Empire’s ruler and bullet, blades, and bolts, but also blatant idiocy spewing from above fashionably high collars. While choosing to warn the Empress of the plot against her had perhaps been the most straightforward political act any assassin could have committed, this… spoke of a level of _interest_ that Corvo had not dared expect – had not dared hope for.

They had no idea how long their investigation into the Brigmore coven would take, much less what it would take to eliminate Delilah if necessary, or what would happen if they did. Once the veil had lifted enough to see past his own rage at Billie’s crimes – not just against Daud, but against Emily, putting her at risk most of all when she betrayed their location to Delilah – Corvo had understood that she had done what she had because taking a side had cost the Whalers what they'd valued most: their independence. Warning the Empress instead of going through with the contract had spelt the end of the Whalers’ dominion over Dunwall.

He let the thought settle for a moment, not allowing himself to be distracted by the confirmation that Daud would honour their standing weekly appointment the following day. He had not been able to make it the week before, a fact that Corvo steadfastly refused to let disappoint him. Finally opening the second sheet, Corvo set to finding out what this was all about. 

> _Dunwall, the capital of the Empire of the Isles has been brought low by vermin._
> 
> _We are faced with the reality that this once great city is in a state of shambles, and the few remaining domiciles in any habitable condition are the estates of those wealthy enough to ward themselves against that reality. A city cannot continue to thrive, populated by only the upper classes and their cloistered sycophants._
> 
> _Even if the plague were gone tomorrow, in its present state Dunwall doesn't have enough hardy people of working age to return the city to everyday function. We must find a way to attract more residents, which requires removing the cloud of fear brought about by the uncertainty following Empress Jessamine’s disappearance and, as we now know, death at the hands of traitors. We have a new empress, only she is but young and inexperienced._
> 
> _So we must stand with her, but part of it falls on us – a plague must be overcome. And after that we must undertake another miracle, turning the screws on the obscenely wealthy, forcing them to pay back into the place that has given them their privileged lives; it is the powerful and fortunate who must pay for the rebuilding of Dunwall, even if the poorest will bear the stones and timbers of reconstruction on their backs._
> 
> _All this must happen for the dormant machine of commerce to restart. Without that, we are all forfeit, and Dunwall will be lost._

Corvo read this twice more, too, before setting the paper down on his desk. The words were not attributed to a name, he discovered as he turned it over searching for a signature. When faced with people like Burrows, caution was not unwise, he considered even as he could not help but begrudge whoever had written this for not laying claim to their convictions.

A challenging voice, for certain, but at least in this excerpt free of the vitriol others found it in their hearts to spare for the new Empress. While the Dunwall Courier editorial was largely supportive, not all of its reporters were inclined to be. That was their right as journalists and citizens, yet Corvo sometimes ground his teeth at the rather more moralistic references to their absence. They had hidden themselves away and left the city in limbo while working to prevent a greater catastrophe in secret, Corvo would cop to that any day, but to accuse Emily of _cowardice_ for a decision that had not been hers to begin with and that, from her, had required an enormous amount of strength as the months wore on and she began, slowly but surely, to lead – that was unconscionable, and he would not stand for it. Not as her father. Not as her right hand.

Still, silencing critical voices was precisely what those who questioned Emily’s right to the throne would accuse them of as soon as they began restructuring her council and staff advisors, Corvo held no illusions about that. The next few months would require care, as would, indeed, the next ten years. Pushing away from his desk and standing, Corvo paced the length of the room, rubbing his forehead to stave off the impending headache, then drawing a hand through his hair. He knew what was necessary. He just wasn’t looking forward to it.

***

“It’s really quite important!” Piero called after him as Corvo quickly traversed the yard, wishing fervently he could just use Blink. After so many months of freely employing his powers as he saw fit, adjusting to life at the Tower felt constricting in more ways than one. Instinctively, he clenched his left fist, the tanned leather of the gloves he was now consigned to wearing pulling taut over his knuckles, and the Void inside him tore at the shackles, chained except for those nights when Corvo went out on the rooftops — another of the Outsider's _gifts_. He knew the Whalers on patrol saw him when he did, although they never made contact by mutual agreement. The time would come soon enough. Until then, they would minimise the risk of being caught, separately or together. Apart from one – Daud visiting him in broad daylight did not exactly count as risk mitigation, Corvo thought with a smirk.

“Everything’s important, Piero, when you live at Dunwall Tower,” Corvo called back. He hadn’t missed Piero’s disapproving look – no doubt he and Anton would devise some scheme to force him into their lab or wherever they were conducting their latest experiments sooner rather than later. Out of safety concerns, he had forbidden them to experiment on infected rats on the premises. After setting foot into Galvani’s lab on Clavering, Corvo knew better than to invite that mess within fifty yards of the Tower; if they wanted to muck around with rat entrails, they had to do so in Sokolov’s lab.

Having successfully evaded being accosted by overexcited scientists, Corvo managed to get to his quarters without further delay. Closing the door behind himself, he leaned against it for a moment and sighed, glancing at the grandfather clock behind his desk. Briefly, he deliberated locking the door but then decided against it. Not out of consideration for Daud – since the exception on the day of Emily’s coronation, he had returned to stealing inside through the window. But if the Royal Protector started locking his door at regular intervals, it could cause more suspicion than it was worth. If anyone else wanted to avail themselves of his time today, Daud would simply have to make himself scarce.

Resisting the urge to check the time again, Corvo idly sorted the papers littering his desk, filing a new report from Geoff Curnow away for later. Beneath it, he found the pamphlet Daud had sent him the day before. While he understood what Daud meant, he could not quite fathom his intention in having it precede his own arrival – why not just bring it with him? Corvo didn’t know Daud as the sort of man who was reluctant to make his opinions known, with or without a pistol aimed at someone else’s head (or, in fact, his own).

A soft flutter from the window, the air around him static, flickering around the frayed edges of the Void, was the only indication Corvo received – the only one that he needed.

“Daud.” Corvo looked up from his desk to see him still by the window across the room, every bit the imposing figure legend made him out to be when he stood tall like this in his infamous red coat, back ramrod straight and shoulders tense, his hand on the hilt of his blade not out of necessity but habit, his dark eyes focused on Corvo and staring at him as though there was a feast to be made of him. That expression disappeared as quickly as it had made itself known, however, and Corvo was left with nothing but a shiver down his back and silence thick enough to cut with a butter knife.

“Corvo,” Daud finally answered, his voice grating over the syllables like so much battered steel.

Corvo settled for waving a hand at one of the armchairs, sitting down in his own chair himself. The formality of the setting seemed at odds with the familiarity that the gesture held between them – at the Hound Pits, they had taken breakfast on opposite sides of a booth, they had spent hours deep into the night discussing mission details in Daud’s quarters, across his desk strewn with Whalers’ reports and stolen documents. This was nothing new and the trouble was, Corvo _wanted_  this to remain a fixture, even as he was inescapably aware that his reasons for that were anything but as simple as appreciating decent company.

 _Your unmoving face may have fooled him, but not me_ , Jessamine’s words echoed in his mind. _He_ is _very handsome when he laughs._

“I got your letter,” Corvo settled for an opening as he watched Daud stalking towards him.

Daud arched a brow as he settled himself. “You haven’t barred the windows.”

Corvo’s next words lodged in his throat as he considered Daud’s response. “Why would I do that?”

Daud now looked expectedly smug – but not entirely for the reason Corvo had anticipated. “I as good as suggested someone to take a seat on your Empress’s council, without even giving you a name.”

“She’s your Empress, too,” Corvo volleyed back before even taking aim at the rest of it, seeking to remind him that as a citizen of Dunwall, Daud was right to have a vested interest in who decided policy.

Instead of lightening the mood, his remark had the opposite effect as Daud’s eyes darkened. “So I’ve been reminded.”

Frowning, Corvo began, “What—”

He didn’t get further, as without warning the door to his chambers opened. Corvo and Daud were both out of their seats in an instant, Daud already balling his fist to call upon the Void, but his magic stuttering and fading when he saw who had entered the room.

“Emily, how many times do I have to tell you to knock,” Callista’s exasperated voice followed her inside, and then she abruptly halted in the doorway. “Especially when Corvo has visitors,” she added more quietly, giving a small nod in Daud’s direction. Seeing the way the Whalers had acted to protect her and Emily during the attack, Callista’s attitude towards them had softened somewhat, particularly towards Rinaldo and Misha but even towards Daud, albeit reluctantly. Checking that no-one was behind her, she stepped inside and closed the door. “My apologies, Corvo.”

“Daud, you’re back!” Emily had no time to spare for apologies, it seemed, as she was now charging towards Daud, coming to stand just in front of him and setting a hand on his left sleeve as she looked up at him. Corvo remembered that Emily had only seen Daud a few times since her coronation, and most times only very briefly.

Corvo watched as Daud let her draw his arm back down, knowing exactly what she was doing to keep him from vanishing in a cloud of ash. A muscle in Daud’s jaw ticked as he regarded her for a moment, then he sketched a bow and murmured, “Your Highness.”

“You may call me Emily,” she pronounced in a serious tone, then her expression changed and she added in a more entreating voice, “you always used to, Daud, please.” Corvo understood only too well that Emily, too, missed some of the peculiar liberties of the Hound Pits pub.

Daud’s eyes flickered over to Corvo only for a second, but then he looked back at Emily and nodded. “As you wish.”

Even as his tone was as pleasant as a voice this rough and hewn could be, Corvo saw that same resistance lingering in Daud’s expression.

Emily, unfazed, grinned at him, then at Corvo. “You didn’t tell me he was coming!”

“I wasn’t sure,” Corvo dodged the accusation. “I didn’t want to disrupt your lesson plan unnecessarily.”

She made an exasperated noise as Daud, standing stock still with a small Empress hanging off his arm, shifted. Returning her attention to him, Emily frowned. “Corvo explained why you can’t stay here with us, but I still don’t like it.”

This time, the look Daud threw him was one of moderate alarm, a sentiment that Corvo rather shared in that moment. He had indeed explained that to her – in the context of not offering Daud the position of Spymaster.

“I have not been made aware that this was a point of contention between you and your Lord Protector,” Daud said, doubtlessly aiming to distract her with the overly formal phrasing.

He mostly succeeded, as Emily giggled and tugged at his arm again. “Now you’re talking like Lord Farland.” She wasn’t so easily deterred, however, as she continued, “you really can’t?”

Daud _fidgeted_. Unbidden, the memory of the day Corvo had first told Daud of Emily’s expressed wish of meeting him resurfaced, and of the way Daud had mocked him for taking the Princess’s ‘insistence’ as read. Were it not for the awkwardness of the situation, exacerbated by Daud’s reaction to Corvo’s words just prior to the interruption, Corvo would have appreciated the irony of watching him squirm now.

“I can’t have two offices, Emily, it’s not practical,” Daud eventually answered her. “My place is with my people and… you are well protected here.”

“It doesn’t have to be an office,” Emily argued, exhibiting a talent that really only children possessed in picking out technical loopholes and making them big enough to climb through. “Just a room, so you don’t have to travel back to the Flooded District every time you and Corvo get back late at night.”

“Get back?” Daud parroted.

Now it was Emily’s turn to look unimpressed. “You’re going to go on missions again, right? To find out more about the witches?”

Those questions, they all knew, were entirely rhetorical.

Daud sighed. “No-one can know of your… association with the Whalers,” he argued, but Corvo knew that it was token resistance. Emily, too – her smile said she knew exactly that they’d agreed on terms, now all that was left was haggling over price.

“We’ll lock it, Corvo can hide the keys. And we’ll tell the maids not to bother cleaning it if it’s not used.” Corvo was about to interject that he had no wish to be part of this debate when Daud beat him to it.

“Maids have skeleton keys.”

“Then my word as Empress will have to be enough,” Emily delivered the fatal blow with such precision that Corvo had to take a deep breath and focus on a spot on the far wall over Daud’s shoulder for a moment before exchanging a glance with Callista. “Of course, you can put in traps if you want,” Emily added generously, at which point Callista, too professional to laugh but still human, pursed her lips.

“Emily,” she interrupted, “we’re going to be late for your music lessons.”

“But—”

At this, Callista clicked her tongue in disapproval. “What did we learn about starting sentences with ‘but?’”

“That no good argument can come of it because I’m supposed to convince others of what I can prove, not of what I want,” Emily recited in a resigned tone, telling clearly of the many times she’d heard this particular nugget of imparted wisdom.

Reluctantly, she let go of Daud’s arm. “Bye, Daud.”

“Good day, Emily,” Daud responded, drawing another smile from her. Before Callista could steer her away, Emily quickly bounded up to Corvo and tugged on his coat. Bending down without hesitation, Corvo let her peck him on the cheek – likely her reason for coming to see him in the first place – and then nudged her in the direction of her governess.

When the door closed behind them and they were alone again, Daud was the first to sit back down, somewhat heavily.

“That was not how I wanted this to go,” he muttered under his breath but loud enough for Corvo to pick up on.

“Daud, I didn’t mean that you were her _subject_ , earlier,” Corvo issued the only correction he could think of making that might help Daud’s obvious misgivings. Things had been different during the past few months, Corvo coming up against invisible walls every time he so much as tried to ask Daud how he was, save perhaps for the morning of Emily's coronation — the last time he'd dared to get so close. He’d let it lie, reminding himself that Daud owed him – owed them – no confidence he was not prepared to give, no matter what may have evolved between them at the Hound Pits. But he’d worried, had missed his presence and his counsel, and Daud’s past needling of his ‘bleeding heart’ would not deter him now.

“Daud,” he repeated as he leaned against the desk, with demand wrapped around the name that he hoped Daud would know how to interpret. Corvo didn’t want concessions or reassurances. He wanted to know how to _help_.

“I can’t—” Daud began before breaking off and looking away, and if he didn’t remind Corvo so much of a skittish animal scenting a trap, he’d vault the Void-forsaken desk to close the distance between them. Forcing away from the pull, he swallowed.

“She’s right,” Daud spoke before he could, his face carefully neutral now. Blinking at the change of subject, Corvo nodded slowly. “But I can’t be here anytime she wants me to be. As long as I'm leading the Whalers, I need to run them,” Daud continued.

“I know. She’ll understand.” _I understand_ , Corvo thought.

Again, Daud averted his eyes, his jaw tense.

“Have you given any thought to…” Corvo trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“Corvo—you know I can’t stay,” Daud rasped, his eyes now back on Corvo’s, and he couldn’t look away. “After this is done, I’m leaving Dunwall.”

For a moment, all Corvo could do was stare. As his blood rushed to his feet and his chest tightened like a vice, he held Daud’s gaze, trying to hold on to at least one of his racing thoughts. Daud’s breath, too, was coming short. Dimly, he registered the Heart's pulse against his chest.

Forcing himself to speak, Corvo asked, his voice tight, “For good?”

Something in Daud’s carefully controlled expression splintered, and through the cracks Corvo saw the same uncertainty he would always associate with the night Emily had had that nightmare and called for them both to comfort her. The night Corvo had first bridged that inscrutable distance. “I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) I'm also munching on an AU of my own AU, meaning really naughty one-shots about Corvo, Jess, and Daud... so if you're interested in that, [look here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11574663).  
> b) Daud staring at Corvo like he's good enough to eat is my aesthetic tbh.  
> c) *scratches 'The Outsider is an asshole' into a school desk in the Void with a pocketknife*  
> d) The Reclamation of Dunwall, adapted from the in-game original found in Daud's personal belongings: http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/The_Reclamation_of_Dunwall


	2. Who in the sunshine, who in the nighttime (Daud)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud explains why, Corvo pays a visit, and things don't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides face in hands* thank you, all of you, so much for your positive reactions and encouragement after the first chapter! Working on this sequel was/is so much fun, and it was so worth it to write into the Void for a while and then return to you! <3
> 
> Publishing early this week because it's my birthday this weekend and I'm visiting a friend, so my Internet access will be spotty.
> 
> In this chapter, we have a nice little vintage, an excellent glass of 1837 Daud's Distilled Despair. To all of you who've had a sneak peek at the [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN) — yes, I was miserable writing + editing it, thanks for asking. But I promise, what follows will be all the sweeter for it. ~~Or bittersweet, at least.~~
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy xx

The admission wrenched out of him like a dead engine coil, Daud continued to watch Corvo’s face as he was watched in return. There was no clean way out of this, he knew; not for him. He’d looked.

He followed Corvo with his eyes as he rounded the desk, stepping towards where Daud was sitting, slowly, still watching him. When he was close enough, something twisted over his face, and then he reached out a hand and laid it on Daud’s shoulder; and although his touch was light, Daud felt like drowning. When Daud didn’t flinch, didn’t shake him off, he squeezed gently, brushing his thumb over the fabric of Daud’s coat.

As though someone had cut his strings, Daud didn’t fight himself as he bent his head and his shoulders dropped as the remaining tension bled out of him at Corvo’s touch.

This. This was why he couldn’t be here.

“I understand,” Corvo said quietly. “Why you would want to leave.”

 _Wanting’s got nothing to do with it_ , Daud thought bitterly as Corvo’s warmth seared into him even through the layers of clothing he was wearing to ward off the chill lingering in the air coming off the Wrenhaven, the season not quite changed.

“I have to,” he finally dredged up, about half a contradiction, then clenched his teeth against the things he couldn’t say.

For weeks, he’d tried to convince himself that he could make this decision without involving Corvo at all. What was it to Corvo if he left, he told himself; even knowing that one word, one look, one _touch_ would be enough to drag things out of him that would do well to remain hidden in the dark. It was happening now, the draw so strong Daud had to fight the instinct to hold on to the armrests of the chair he was sitting in, knowing it would do him no good.

Generously assuming that he made it through this alive, that he could battle a coven of witches of untold power and walk away – this was the Knife of Dunwall’s last job. After this, the Whalers were done, and so was he. After a life of watching blood trickle into the gutter, he had condemned himself and his people to another. Perhaps, a different one. Some would leave Dunwall, some would stay, find something new or the same to do for a different boss, and some would lose themselves in the city and be devoured.

Billie’s final question echoed in his mind. _‘So you’re just going to let your heart dictate from now on?’_

He hadn’t seen it coming. He’d treated her like a mystery to be solved instead of recognising the danger she posed to his unguarded back, distracted by the conspiracy, by politics – by Corvo.

‘I spared you, didn’t I,’ he’d given his answer, and it’d been a self-indictment and a lie wrapped up in one.

His heart, or what was left of it, was a poor traitor to the cause given that Daud had spent so long not subscribing to any cause but coin, so even that was an empty accusation. No-one to blame but himself and his weakness in the face of warm brown eyes and a hidden smile.

If he stayed, it was him that would be swallowed whole, trapped inside the leviathan like old bones from the deep.

“Whatever you decide to do,” Corvo’s voice was low, “I’m here.”

As Corvo retracted his hand, his fingers trailing from Daud’s shoulder, all but marking that pound of flesh, Daud knew that he wasn’t drowning after all. Drowning would be more merciful than this.

Clearing his throat, Corvo went back to his high-backed chair and sat down. For a moment, there was silence, but then Daud heard the tell-tale rustle of papers being shuffled.

“So. This pamphlet.” Daud looked up as Corvo spoke. “Want to tell me who wrote it?”

***

**Two weeks later**

The room was on the second floor of the Tower, down the hall from the royal chambers, one door past the quarters that had once belonged to General Tobias. He, too, had been ousted after Burrows’ arrest; after it had been discovered that he and most of his men had been on the former Spymaster’s payroll. The position was temporarily filled by one of Curnow’s own captains, who Daud had no intention of running into.

He felt ridiculous, making his way down the corridor via chandeliers and the wooden awnings Corvo had pointed out to him, then sneaking inside with the only key left in circulation. The room was sparsely furnished – a desk, filing cabinet, two chairs for visitors next to a small fireplace, and against the other wall a bed, nightstand, and a dresser. Still, it had a roof and the heating here actually worked, both of which were things he had neither missed nor wanted for at the Commerce building or the Hound Pits, used to taking what he had to work with, but that he appreciated all the same. Yet another sign that he was getting old, as if he had any shortage of those.

It was still dark, just going on four in the morning, and no-one roamed the halls except for a few guards, but he didn’t bother checking if he knew their faces, not knowing which rotation Montgomery, Jenkins, and Rinaldo were on this week. To have three Whalers insinuate themselves into Tower security seemed at once woefully inadequate and too great a sacrifice – they needed every man they could spare for patrols and raids. But there’d been no reasoning with Rinaldo, and where he went, the other two were never far behind. Daud had put the fear of the Outsider into them should they give themselves away, should they fail to follow orders no matter how contrary to what Daud would have them do, should they fail to report to Corvo regularly to maintain his good will; but the truth of it was, he slept better knowing they were here.

Tonight, he’d just returned from a patrol of the Estate District, joining Galia and Kieron. They’d spent most of their time scouting out the Timsh estate. After finally getting rid of the old man, it was now in the hands of his niece, Thalia. Daud wouldn’t have bothered with the gossip fodder that ensued, if Galia hadn’t come to him and Corvo the night after the Overseer attack, pale and uncharacteristically serious.

“The witch that appeared after you set off the Arc Pylon,” she’d told him, “I’ve seen her before.”

“You _what_ ,” Daud had growled, his temper still walking on knife’s edge, Corvo beside him drawing himself up to his full height from where he’d been leaning against the window.

“I didn’t know what she was,” Galia had defended herself. “I didn’t even know she was real.”

“Start making sense, and quick, Fleet.”

“Sir—I saw her as a statue. In Timsh’s house. It looked just like her, I swear it was.”

The word now was that no-one could find the will – or find it within themselves to reveal its location. Thalia had turned the house upside down, to ill effect, had quarrelled with her uncle’s associates and come away with nothing; and none of that yielded any answers as to what connection Timsh had with Delilah.

This most recent surveillance had not provided anything new, but Daud had decided to travel under the cover of night anyhow. Corvo had asked him to be at the Tower just after shift change at dawn.

Daud hadn’t known what to expect from Corvo when he told him the truth, but he realised he should have known better than to hope for their connection to be severed, as some part of him had even as he’d dreaded the possibility. As it was, finally telling Corvo about his plans had lifted a weight off his shoulders; only things between them had shifted yet again, from the tense silences of the past months, which Daud knew were his own fault, back to the companionship that had marked their better days at the Hound Pits and before. And that, Daud thought, posed a very different kind of danger in and of itself. But even as he knew his own weakness, he did nothing to stop it.

Daud sat down on the untouched bed and took off his boots, then his socks, stretching his toes in the warm air. It wouldn’t have been fair to keep his decision a secret from Corvo – not only that, it would have made looking him in the eye impossible. Leaving had nothing to do with Corvo, and yet everything. Whatever had begun at the Hound Pits, Daud did not fool himself into thinking that this wouldn’t be the end of it. Even if he weren't leaving; with Corvo back in his rightful place and in the cold light of day, anything that could have ever been between them was the price he would pay to have made it so — and then what was the cost but useless fantasy.

Instead of scorn, Corvo had met him with compassion, and when Corvo had touched his wrist to get his attention while poring over reports and stolen documents the week before as though nothing had changed at all, Daud had resigned himself to the fact that, of course, Corvo would be the kind of man determined to be his friend even now.

His friend. Nothing more. It was his skin that burnt at Corvo’s touch, innocuous as it was these days. Daud remembered his gentle kiss at the top of Emily’s tower, remembered what could have been a very different one, and recognised the mistake he’d made. Daud’s advances right after the attack had been an adrenaline-fuelled lapse, pure and simple, and in hindsight he was grateful he hadn’t followed through even as temptation ached in his chest. There might have been moments when... but surely those had passed. Corvo's touches now spoke of comfort, and if he looked at him strangely sometimes, across his desk littered with plans and reports, then it was just a trick of the light.

 _Perhaps Corvo's relieved_ , he thought as he pulled off his gloves and unbuckled the belt across his chest, setting aside his weapons within reach. His coat followed and he undid the buttons on his shirt, leaving him in his trousers and undershirt. As such, the burden of denial would be his, and Daud preferred it so. Corvo had been through enough. Daud would be damned and cause him any more pain.

More than anything, he needed perspective. If he stopped killing, then who was he? For now, he knew the answer, as long as he had a job to do. But it would end, as all jobs did, and these were questions he would not find the answers to in Dunwall, or even Gristol, this wretched rock. But where could he go? He’d been asking himself that ever since hauling himself up through a window on the other side of the Tower, stepping in front of Empress Jessamine and her Royal Protector for the first time nigh on a year ago.

Setting the small alarm clock on the nightstand first, Daud then lay down on top of the covers and closed his eyes. It was a couple hours yet until dawn.

* * *

 

“When’s the kid coming?” Daud asked Corvo as he accepted the proffered cup of coffee. How Corvo had convinced the maids that he needed two when Daud wasn’t on the official itinerary, he didn’t know. He suspected it had something to do with _charm_.

“In an hour or so. I want a chance to talk to him before taking him to see Emily,” Corvo replied, stepping up next to him at the window. The sun was just rising, and below them in the yard, the guards were getting settled into their morning routine, the night watch moving back to the barracks below. Corvo absently rotated his left wrist, still getting used to the strap of fabric that extended from his sleeve and wrapped around his hand, secured with a band around his thumb — Piero's idea. It allowed him to relinquish the gloves, and obscured the Mark without necessarily drawing too much attention to the covering.

“Don’t trust him?” Daud frowned, pulling his gaze away from Corvo's hands. He didn’t know much about Jameson Curnow besides what Emily had told him when she’d asked if the Whalers could help her find him, and he hadn’t asked Callista for specifics. Perhaps he should have, if Corvo was concerned.

“It’s not that,” Corvo said. “But from what I heard from the officers that found him, he was on his own, parents long gone. He’d been quarantined at the alms-house for a while before it had to close due to infection. Most of the children who were there with him didn’t make it past a few weeks.”

“He’s resourceful, then.”

“Resourceful,” Corvo nodded. “Traumatised. If he survived this long on his own, my guess is he did things he’s not proud of,” he added with a side-long glance at Daud, who winced. His own recruits were proof enough that Corvo was right – an orphan in the streets of Dunwall was either dead or cunning.

“If he’s spooked, I’m not sure my being here’s going to help any.”

“He’s not why I asked you to come.” Corvo turned and walked back to his desk, putting down his own coffee and picking up a small stack of files instead.

“Oh? I wasn’t aware this was a social call,” Daud couldn’t help but tease, mentally castigating himself for being so damn easy and hoping desperately that Corvo couldn’t read it in his face.

He was punished in more ways than one when Corvo grinned, striding back towards him, and then pressed the files into his hand. “I wish it could be,” Corvo told him freely, no guile in his voice, “but as it is, we have work to do, and I know Emily and I can trust you with this.”

Daud swallowed. “What are these?”

“Everything I have on Abigail Ames,” Corvo explained, indicating the file at the top, “and the other’s on Alexandria Hypatia.”

“Hypatia? I’ve heard that name before.”

“She’s a student at the Academy of Natural Philosophy, currently working on her doctorate. Piero and Sokolov brought her to my attention as someone they’d like to bring in to work on the Cure with them. She’s been working on a restorative of her own, though hers is geared more towards bloodfly disease, or so they tell me.”

Daud looked up at him in surprise. “She’s from Serkonos?”

Corvo nodded. “It’ll be good to get her perspective on a few other things, too. From what I could discern after a little digging into her background, she’s friends with Lucia Pastor. Theodanis mentioned her,” Corvo added at Daud’s questioning look. “She’s active in the Shindaerey Peak Miners' Family Committee.”

Daud blinked. “I confess, it’s been a few years. The what?”

Corvo huffed in amusement. “The biggest mines in the Batista District now belong to Aramis Stilton, a miner who worked his way up. Theodanis speaks very highly of him.”

“Good to know you found the time to chat while you were down there.” Daud swirled the dregs of the coffee before emptying the cup. Setting it on the window sill, he repositioned the files in his arms so he could leaf through them.

“The blockade wasn’t his idea,” Corvo objected.

Daud shot him a look. “You like him.”

“He pulled me up from the street after the Blade Verbena. He’s a good man, a fair ruler.”

“He gave you away as a ‘diplomatic gesture,” Daud countered, sharper than intended. He shut his mouth then – he hadn’t come here to argue, or to malign someone Corvo clearly held in high esteem. The thought didn't sit well with him, was all.

“Soldiers are reassigned all the time. It was an honour to be considered,” Corvo responded steadily, likely seeing right through him. “If he hadn’t…” Corvo trailed off, then shrugged.

Daud focused on the pages in front of him. “I’ll look into Hypatia, see what she’s up to at the Academy. How did you find so much on Ames?”

Corvo let him get away with the change of subject. “She used to work for Ramsey. Then, she reappeared during the strike at Rothwild’s slaughterhouse.”

“The one that blew up?”

“A few days after Rothwild himself disappeared. And we weren’t even there,” Corvo had the nerve to sound disappointed.

“I believe that’s my line, _you_ still have a reputation to maintain,” Daud said caustically. Then, he registered the implication of Corvo’s words. “You mean it was an inside job. Ames instigated the strike, and then… boom.”

“That’s what it looks like.” Corvo’s tone was serious now.

“I didn’t know about all that when I sent you the pamphlet,” Daud defended, “just knew she had her hand in all sorts of labour politics since she was a teen. I’d have never suggested her if I’d thought she was dangerous.”

“Why did you suggest her?”

“Because I agree with her,” Daud decided to be blunt, seeing that the words had an impact on Corvo. Daud did not discuss his politics, not with anyone, not after decades of pretending he didn’t have any. “What do you want me to do, why even give this to me now?”

“I’m not dismissing her out of hand. Talk to her, put a bit of fear in her if necessary. I’m willing to consider her, but I need to be sure she’s not… too radical, or opportunistic, before I even think about putting her in a room with Emily.”

“It’s going to cause an uproar if you do,” Daud said, not that he was telling Corvo anything he didn’t already know, or that he himself hadn't considered in the first place.

Corvo, in his wisdom, shrugged. “That’s coming, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

Corvo crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, his eyes open and searching on Daud’s face. “We want to drain the Flooded District.”

For a moment, Daud was gobsmacked, which hardly could have escaped Corvo’s notice. “That’s going to cost a fortune. And you’re going to need the Cure, not a promise of one. Rudshore Gate is overrun with Weepers and what survivors managed to barricade themselves. They’re not going to hold out much longer, not even illegal supply runs from the gangs can change that.”

“Once Hypatia begins helping Sokolov and Piero, progress will improve. They’re running circles around one another, they need someone to keep them on task, and I’m not the one to do it, much as I appreciate this,” Corvo lifted his left hand, "and Sokolov's tinkering with stun mines that don't immediately fry anything within ten feet. Remind me to show you."

Daud grunted in agreement – handholding mad scientists was not exactly up his alley, either. “So that’s the plan. Cure the disease, drain the flooded areas, put the survivors to work and rebuild the city.”

“We’ll need to get the blockade lifted in order for workers from the South to come in, but we can ask for help from Potterstead and Poolwick, maybe even Driscol.”

“What about Morley? They don’t exactly need to row their boats very far.”

“I doubt Caulkenny’s willing, much less Alba. They pushed hardest for the blockade, precisely because their coast is so close.”

“What’s the word from the other Isles, now that Dunwall isn’t turning into a graveyard?”

At his words, Corvo a shadow passed over Corvo’s face.

“What?”

“That’s exactly when Jessamine said. That they’re waiting for the city to…” Corvo gestured by way of finishing the sentence.

“Oh.” Uncertain what else to say without making it worse, Daud nevertheless drew breath to speak when someone knocked on the door. Familiar with the logistics by now, Daud transversed up on the wooden awnings, having the sense to grab his empty cup as he went. Making sure that Daud was crouched low and out of sight, Corvo called to enter.

“Lord Attano,” a young guard Daud now recognised as Simmons came inside. “Captain Curnow and his ward have arrived.”

“Thank you. Have them wait for me in the library, I’ll be right down.”

Simmons bowed out, leaving them alone. Daud descended from his perch and set the crockery down next to Corvo’s on the desk.

“I’ll leave you to it. And I’ll look into these,” he indicated the files.

Corvo nodded. “How long is Thalia going to be at the house?”

“Until next weekend. We have to get a message to her before then.”

“Do it. We’re as ready as we’ll ever be. Whatever that witch is planning, we can’t wait any longer to find out. Timsh is the first step.”

“I’ll let you know,” Daud said and was almost at the window when Corvo’s voice stopped him.

“Will I see you, before?”

“Go talk to the kid,” Daud rumbled over his shoulder, then hauled himself through the window. Breathing in the pungent air off the Wrenhaven, he transversed away, taking the now well-travelled route down to the sewers. “You’re an old fool, Daud,” he growled under his breath.

Three days later, he sent word to the Tower. Thalia Timsh expected them that weekend.

***

“Daud,” Thomas entered his quarters at the Hound Pits. “We have new information on the Hatters’ activity in Drapers Ward.”

Daud nodded. “Let’s hear it.”

Before Thomas could begin, however, a Whaler’s fist came down on one of the windows from the outside, knocking three times. Daud and Thomas exchanged a glance, then Daud gestured for his second to get a move on. Not one to be told twice, Thomas vanished. Promoting him had been an easy choice.

“What,” Daud barked. Kieron appeared in front of him.

“A boat’s coming closer, sir. Can’t see who it is yet.”

“Help Thomas secure the doors.” Without another word, Daud transversed past him out into the hall and then made his way down to the bar. Once outside, he appeared on the roof of what used to be Piero and Sokolov’s workshop, now used simply as an armoury. Next to the Arc Pylon, Galia was watching the river with her spyglass.

“Overseers?” Daud crouched down next to her.

“It’s just the one boat, sir, doesn’t look like anyone’s followin’.”

Extending his own, Daud zoomed in on the speck in the distance she pointed him towards. Squinting, he waited. Once the shapes drew through the mist rising off the Wrenhaven this early in the morning, he cursed under his breath.

“Damn fool,” he hissed, pocketing his spyglass and standing.

“Boss?”

He whistled sharply through his teeth, trill echoing through the yard and the distillery. “Stand down,” he bellowed.

“Boss,” Galia asked again, more insistent now.

“It’s Corvo.”

That got her attention. “Corvo?”

Following Daud’s order, several Whalers emerged from the pub and gathered in the yard near the dock. “Sir?” Rulfio called when he was within ear-shot.

They waited.

Agonisingly slowly, Samuel’s boat crept closer, even more so now that Daud knew who was coming. What was Corvo _thinking_? As he waited, Daud oscillated between scorn and worry.

Once Samuel had brought the boat to moor, Corvo jumped out as though it was nothing, as though he did this every day, meeting the assembled Whalers with a smile.

“Good to see you, Lord Corvo,” Rulfio greeted him, clapping a hand on his back.

A few more Whalers hung back, calling greetings or saluting Corvo the way they’d become used to. Daud kept behind all of them, his arms crossed and watching.

Once Corvo had said hello to everyone who’d come out, he raised his eyes to Daud’s, and the Whalers crowded around him parted as if on cue, many turning their attention to Samuel, who they saw more often but was always a welcome visitor.

Corvo walked up towards him, a sheepish look on his face.

“This isn’t the welcome I expected.”

“The welcome you’d have almost gotten is that up there,” Daud grumbled, jerking his head at the Arc Pylon above them. “What were you thinking?”

Looking over his shoulder at the Whalers still milling about, Corvo motioned towards the yard. Reluctantly, Daud turned to walk up the steps.

“So?” he asked once they were out of earshot. Corvo didn’t respond for a moment, and as he stared at him waiting for an explanation, Daud noticed the dark circles under his eyes. “Bad night,” he said quietly, if just to spare Corvo the search for words.

Corvo sighed, then nodded.

Daud felt himself flounder. He had a hunch, but why on earth would Corvo come all the way from the Tower when he could just as well send Montgomery with a letter – assuming that the Outsider was the cause, which seemed more than likely. Observing Corvo’s tired expression, Daud was going to ask just that when something clicked.

“Kennels?”

Looking almost pathetically grateful, Corvo nodded again.

“Come on.”

*

They hadn’t sparred in ages. At the Tower, the training grounds were always open to the Watch and nearly always in use, and even Corvo wasn’t daft enough to sneak down in the middle of the night to practise his abilities, let alone with him, so sword combat with the new recruits it was, Daud surmised.

He found confirmation when Corvo blinked into him, knocking him aside, and _grinned_. Even if the Outsider had haunted his sleep that night, he enjoyed the powers he’d been given.

Daud knew the feeling.

Still, he thought as he forced Corvo into a blade lock, there was something missing. When Corvo took two steps where before he’d have only needed one to parry _and_ attack, Daud scowled. Their fight continued for a good half an hour, and after it was clear that Corvo was pulling his punches, so to speak, Daud decided to put a stop to it.

When he saw an opening, he grabbed for Corvo’s throat, forcing him back, transversing forward until Corvo hit the bars of the cage with a rattle. “Stop holding back,” he growled.

His grip on Corvo’s neck wasn’t strong enough to give him trouble breathing, but Corvo inhaled sharply through his nose anyway.

“As you wish,” he grunted, shoving Daud off of him with enough force that Daud staggered for a moment. Then, Corvo was on him, slicing his blade down, but Daud had already vanished. And so, the merry chase continued as Corvo's focus sharpened, the clash of blades and powers finally becoming what Daud knew them both capable of. Neither spoke, aside from the odd grunt, not even to taunt each other as they danced around each other. Daud wasn't entirely sure how much time had passed, but his breathing was heavy and his blood pumping when he saw an opening.

He lunged as the same as time as he tethered Corvo. The intention was to knock Corvo's legs out under him and get him on his back, usually their way of determining a victor in their training fights — with Daud's bulk, an achievable goal even against Corvo's strength; but Corvo used Blink to turn Daud's Pull against him just as Daud was starting forward, putting him off-balance. So Daud changed his approach.

Reappearing behind Corvo, he went for his throat to put him in a chokehold, but then had the wind knocked out of him when Corvo, instead of twisting away, planted his feet and drove his left elbow back and into his stomach, anticipating Daud's adjustment. Corvo spun on his heel, gripping Daud’s right wrist and wrenching it away, bringing the flat of his blade against Daud’s collar even as Daud raised his hand against Corvo’s waist, a bolt slotting into place on his wrist bow, assuring mutual destruction if this were anything but play.

“Better?” Corvo demanded, retracting the folding blade of his sword with a click and resting his hand against the cage instead, dark eyes boring into Daud’s now that it was his back and weapon, or at least one of them, trapped against unforgiving steel.

He smirked. “Much.” Rotating his wrist, he disarmed the bolt before curving his fingers under Corvo’s ribcage.

They both knew they should disengage, but neither of them moved. Daud swallowed as his mouth went dry at Corvo’s closeness, their bodies nearly touching from chest to thigh. Why in the Void had he insisted Corvo put his back into it? Not that this was the first time they'd ended up in such a position during training, but it'd never been like _this_. The final nail in his coffin, he supposed, came when he noticed Corvo’s eyes flickering down towards his mouth.

No. That couldn’t be. This couldn't be to Corvo what it was to him, it made no _sense_ , and if either of them had any, they'd separate and move on. Daud's gut tightened, tension coiling in a way that felt unknown and long since forgotten. Except Corvo had unearthed that part of him, had awakened something without even knowing — without even trying. And now here he was, unsure and caught, and yet unwilling to break free. It was impossible.

Drawing in a ragged breath, Daud nervously licked his lips before he knew what he was doing, and startled when Corvo’s eyes darkened and he looked back up, accusation in his gaze.

“Daud,” he rasped, his voice now nearly as rough as Daud’s own; and Daud — had enough.

Surging forward, he pressed against him, ruing the inch or two Corvo had on him as he brought himself up against his chest, giving in and kissing him before he could remind himself of his own foolishness.

Humming against his lips, Corvo let go of Daud's wrist and curled his fingers around the bars of the kennel instead, effectively boxing Daud in. Letting his sword clatter to the floor, Daud set his right hand on Corvo’s arm, turning leverage against him like an anchor, and in a fair show of obedience Corvo bowed against him, bending down.

 _This is a mistake_ , he thought even as he brushed his lips against Corvo’s again (and again) and his eyes closed of their own accord, focus narrowing down to the warmth between them.

His thoughts were scattered when Corvo eventually broke the kiss, breathing deeply.

After a few moments, he spoke softly, “This also wasn’t the welcome I expected.”

Daud cleared his throat. "Was it the one you wanted?"

Corvo’s gaze turned apologetic even as he smiled. “I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Daud's excellent adult reasoning: so, they haven't even talked about their FIRST kiss yet, but hey, if he's leaving, then they don't have to, right?? *facepalms to infinity*  
> b) There was a tumblr 'the signs as...' post once, with AO3 tags (I think). For Leo, it was something like, "unrequited pining + angst with a happy ending." I am a Leo. The shoe fits. Good fucking luck.  
> c) Symmetryyyyyyyyyyyyyy.  
> d) Corvo & Daud: Ok so we can be adults about this, no funny business. *do the thing that is guaranteed to put them in close quarters after they've barely touched in months* OK SO THIS WENT BADLY.  
> e) And yes, Corvo sought him out because that's the night he had the encounter with the Outsider from the beginning of Chapter 1. He's not sure he came here for _this_ , though. You'll see why.


	3. Who by high ordeal (Corvo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo knows better than to apologise. He does it anyway. The Timsh Job, part 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If y'all wanna grab Corvo and _shake_ him... well, he's over there. I'm gonna go and take a nap. _God._
> 
> This chapter is a little shorter, I figured we could all do with a breather. Oh, just me? Oh well :P  
> The good news: the boys are actually making themselves useful this time.
> 
> Huggles to everyone who flipped their lid over our two favourite idiots last week; believe me: I KNOW. Oh god, I know.

As Daud lowered his gaze, Corvo let his eyes roam Daud’s face, getting caught (not for the first time) on the scar. It ran from his eyebrow down his cheek, and then far below his high collar. Corvo had never asked what kind of brawl he’d gotten into to receive such a mark – for a mark it was, albeit one so very different from the one they shared. How angry it must have been when first dealt, and how close he might have come to losing the eye. Corvo supposed it must have been in his youth, going by the faded look of it and by the precision he knew Daud had wielded throughout the career that much of Dunwall knew of; that had begun not long before Jessamine had taken the throne herself.

His throat seizing with the reminder, Corvo slowly uncurled his fingers from the bars next to Daud’s head. Daud still wasn’t looking at him but wasn’t moving, either. Watching his jaw tick, Corvo wrestled with the mess of emotions inside him. His answer had been the best he could give if only because it was honest – it wasn’t what he’d been coming here for, even if he wasn’t entirely certain _what_ that was. But most of all, he hadn’t come here to cause Daud pain.

When Daud told him he was leaving – Corvo had acted on instinct more than anything, and that had been to do anything he could to ease the trouble in his eyes. The news had distressed him more than he’d been ready to admit, and after Daud had left that afternoon, he’d sat at his desk, staring into nothing for Void knew how long before Emily returned from her lessons, peppering him with questions whether Daud would accept their offer of room, if not board. He had expected Daud to be reeling from what had happened with Billie, his best and so much like a daughter to him, even if neither of them would have let him get away with describing them thus to their faces. But for this to be what had troubled Daud for so long…

In the end, he understood why Daud wanted away from Dunwall and knew he would probably do the exact same thing in his shoes.

Knowing didn’t make anything easier.

He had been so relieved when Daud’s mood improved after telling him that it was almost enough to ignore the lingering regret, the inexplicable and tentative grief for something that he would now never know. So when Daud still accepted his touch and his comfort, extended in friendship, he had made his peace.

Corvo would not ask him to stay.

And now, his heart aching as he so much as looked at him, Corvo had no idea what to do. Blindsided by his own response to being closer to him than he’d been in months, he now dreaded what Daud must think of him.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised, slowly pulling away.

Daud winced, and Corvo felt even worse. “I kissed you,” he rumbled, his voice low.

“I took advantage,” and the words hadn’t left his mouth when he knew it’d been the wrong thing so say.

Daud’s eyes snapped up to his, sparking with anger. “Is that what you think of me?”

“Daud, I—no. I’m—”

“I know,” Daud growled, then exhaled deeply. “Just leave it. Please,” he added, the word drawn out of him like first blood in a fight.

Corvo nodded and stepped back, putting two paces between them that may as well have been leagues. What now, he wondered but hardly dared to ask.

“Thomas was about to give me a report on Hatter activity in Drapers Ward when you dropped in on us.” Daud’s tone was even. “I suggest we listen to him.”

Not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, Corvo nodded. He would not overstay his welcome, but it wasn’t as though he and Daud could reasonably take to avoiding each other now. Wordlessly, Daud transversed away. Corvo followed.

*

“The canal has now completely dried up,” Thomas began, indicating the area on the map on Daud’s desk. “At first, people thought it was due to the flooding of the Financial District, but the Wrenhaven carries more than enough water to level the entire city if it were let loose. This was intentional. Someone sabotaged a vent somewhere, my guess is in the sewers near Drapers Ward.”

Not yet seeing where this was going, Corvo asked, “what makes you say that?”

“The Hatters’ mills stopped working from one day to the next. They use the river flow to power their turbines. This went on for a few days, until the Dead Eels caught wind of it. Word is they were preparing to launch an assault on the Hatters.”

Next to Corvo, Daud frowned. “Lizzy would never be so stupid. It’s not their mills that make the Hatters dangerous.”

Thomas tilted his head. “Lizzy Stride isn’t leading the Eels anymore.”

“What?”

“She’s in Coldridge.”

“Stride doesn’t let herself get caught,” Daud replied with a confidence that surprised Corvo.

“She didn’t have to. Her second in command, Edgar Wakefield…” Thomas trailed off, visibly uncomfortable.

“Sold her out,” Daud concluded, his expression carefully neutral. Corvo squashed the impulse to reach out, knowing that even on a good day, Daud detested pity — and today, comfort would no doubt be interpreted as such.

“Yes,” Thomas confirmed.

“Bastard. What happened next?”

“The Eels didn’t get as far as anything. Suddenly, the mills were running again, and whatever they did to make that happen, the Eels are livid. Not long now, and there’ll be open warfare.”

“Where’s the City Watch in all this?” Daud asked, turning his head only a fraction but still Corvo knew this question was aimed at him. It wasn’t an accusation by half, but Corvo couldn’t very well abdicate responsibility here.

“With tensions rising and nearly all residents driven away either by the Plague or by the gangs, the Watch has all but abandoned the district,” Corvo explained.

“If Wakefield decides to take the Eels beyond the riverfront, there’ll be bloodshed,” Thomas chimed in.

“Don’t they have smuggling to do?” Daud asked.

“Word is the Undine hasn’t left port in weeks.”

Corvo sighed. “Sabotage?”

“Possible. But there’s no way of knowing for certain without engaging.”

“Which we don’t have time for,” Daud cut in. “Keep an eye on the situation, if only because I don’t want any surprises.”

“Sir. Good to see you again, Lord Corvo.” Thomas gathered his reports and left so abruptly Corvo didn't have time to remind him that just 'Corvo' was fine.

“Daud,” Corvo began instead, “Brigmore Manor lies beyond the barricade.”

“Yes, it does,” Daud said with rather exaggerated patience, Corvo found.

“If Stride were to owe us a favour…”

At this, Daud shot him a shrewd look entirely at odds with the uncomfortable fallout from earlier. “A stay of execution, Royal Protector? And how will you persuade the Empress to sign the writ, beyond telling her tales of Lizzy Stride, the pirate captain?”

Corvo turned more fully towards him. “I was thinking of something a little less official.”

Daud leaned against the desk, regarding Corvo from the side. “Were you now.”

***

Corvo had returned to the Tower around noon that day. That had been three days ago, and he hadn’t seen or heard from Daud since. Today, they were due in the Estate District, to meet with Thalia Timsh and to find out more about her uncle’s connection to Delilah – seeing as he appeared to have had a statue of her in his private rooms.

As he stood at the window in his quarters, overlooking the grounds and waiting for the sun to set, the Heart thumped a reassuring twin beat with his own – once, twice, enough to let him know it must have been intentional.

Having given orders not to disturb him, Corvo didn’t hesitate in freeing the Heart from the confines of his coat.

 _Corvo_. Y _ou are troubled_ , her voice came to him from the Void; devouring as it was, it had not yet silenced her.

“Tonight’s the first step towards Delilah.” But it was not merely Delilah that gave him pause today, and they both knew it.

Years ago, Jessamine had told him she didn't want him to go through life hiding away from everybody else but her — hiding her away, too. But no-one had ever... he had never needed anyone else, even when the loneliness of concealing their feelings for each other had weighed heavily on his shoulders. However many questions he had today, of one thing he was certain: Jessamine's definition of 'everybody else but her' had _not_ originally included an infamous assassin.

When he’d admitted to her his own reaction that seemed to have taken Daud by surprise as much as Corvo himself, the Heart had possessed the grace not to scorn him – or to expose him to her derision. He’d have deserved both, and would have received it, from a less compassionate spirit.

_Delilah…_

“Can you remember anything else beyond what you told me?”

_We played together at Dunwall Tower when we were children. She was a kitchen girl. She disappeared from Dunwall Tower. Something occurred, but so long ago. What was it?_

Corvo restrained a sigh. Many times he had asked the Heart for more information on that strange women named Delilah, but the things she remembered rarely varied. He was not expecting tonight to be any different.

 _I should have tried to find her_ , the Heart then surprised him.

“What do you mean?”

_She… vanished, and I… did nothing. They told me her mother had found another posting. I believed them._

“Who told you this?”

_I don’t… I don’t remember. My father? No, the Spymaster._

“You were only a child, you couldn’t have known.”

 _Emily is a child, and yet she is Empress_ , the Heart reminded him with uncanny sharpness.

“It wasn’t your responsibility,” Corvo insisted.

_Then whose? If this is the same Delilah that I knew, something terrible must have happened._

“She told Lurk she was a baker’s apprentice at Dunwall Tower,” Corvo said, recounting what he remembered from Billie testimony to Daud before she disappeared. “There’s not much room for error, here.”

_You must make certain._

“I will.”

_The sun has begun to set._

Corvo looked up and found that she was right, the time of day painting even hard-worn Dunwall golden in the changing light of dusk. He’d have to let Emily and Callista know that he was leaving, then sneak down and past the water lock to meet with Samuel.

_Go, Corvo. Go find her._

*

Corvo clambered out of the boat just as Thomas and Daud emerged from the sewers.

"Make your way to the Hound Pits, Samuel. I'll return via the sewers with the others, then we can head back to the Tower before dawn," he told his trusted friend.

Samuel nodded, glad not to have to wait for hours until they were done. "You got it, Corvo." Corvo made sure he got away unseen before turning towards the sewer entrance.

“Sir,” Thomas greeted him, unfailingly polite.

The snag came when Daud and Corvo glanced at each other in the fading light, Corvo perversely grateful for his mask. To spare Thomas the pain of watching an awkward greeting whilst pretending not to notice the bloodox in the room, Corvo cleared his throat.

“Thalia is expecting us at the house?”

Daud nodded. “She'll want help finding the will, wherever it is. That’s likely to be her price for all she knows about her uncle and the witch.”

“Security?”

“I told her to give her personal guard a night off – not all of them, but she already employs far fewer guards than her uncle did at Burrows’ behest. We won’t have to bother with them.”

“For once,” Corvo said as they crept up the stairs leading from the sewers to the docks. A few patrols were securing the area, but they bypassed them quickly enough. On the way, Thomas briefly disappeared, then returned with a bundle tucked under his arm.

“Sir,” he handed a note to Daud, and the bundle to Corvo.

He folded back the cloth and discovered a rune. “Daud?”

“A favour,” Daud rasped without turning.

Corvo was familiar enough with the ‘favours’ Daud had access to – a network of vagrants, smugglers, thieves and beggars; usually more than ready to drop a bit of contraband off at a suitable location for a fee. Runes, generally, did not come cheap.

He was about to thank him when, from the corner of his eye, he saw Thomas subtly shake his head. Turning to stare at Thomas for a moment, Whaler’s mask revealing nothing above the tense slope of his shoulders, Corvo wondered just how much of Daud’s... mood was Corvo’s fault.

In the end, Corvo simply tucked the rune away, mind already reaching towards that ritual he had yet to complete – something that reminded him of Daud’s ability to tether.

“Come on,” Daud broke his distraction. “There’s an opening in the guard rotation.”

Making their way into the Legal District via the winding alleys of the Estate district would have been simple, if tedious, but they had different things in mind – a detour via Treaver’s Close. The Hatters had a hide-out close by, and Corvo didn’t want to waste the opportunity. Besides, chances were they had the key. Again.

Treaver’s Close was a dead-end alley branching off the main road leading away from the docks and into the district proper. The Hatters’ main stronghold was their factory in Drapers Ward, but this wasn’t the only abandoned building they were squatting in all over the city; and for the gang members working out of the Legal District, the abandoned Black Friar hotel was more of a base of operations. Corvo raised a brow at the three whitewashed skulls that had been painted onto the low wall at the end of the alley. Charming.

A short mid-level roof led up into a tiny room, secured by several traps. Transversing inside, Daud disarmed them and removed the bolts as well as several grenades, then he gave Corvo the sign to disarm the tripwires themselves. Thomas crossed the room and pocketed what money he could, throwing Daud and Corvo a new elixir each. Corvo turned it in his hand for a moment, then threw it back.

“Take it, I’m friends with the man who does the brewing,” he said, earning a shallow bow from Thomas and an eye roll from Daud.

“Focus,” Daud grumbled, but Corvo wasn’t cowed and, to his relief, neither was Thomas. Much as Lurk had turned out to be a traitor, for whatever reasons she may have had, her irreverent attitude towards Daud had generally put her in Corvo’s good books – and, so he assumed, in Daud’s as well. Daud may expect absolute obedience from his men, but Corvo knew he would not abide lickspittles who couldn’t think for themselves.

Still, they continued to the other side, peering around the window frame, out into the yard between buildings. Half a dozen Hatters, give or take a few, Corvo would guess. Two in the yard, three inside  that he could see using Dark Vision. Houses in this district as in many others were mostly built slim and tall, an effort made especially during the 18th century to account for the surge in population across the city; so it was unlikely that there were many more hiding beyond the reach of his enhanced vision.

Something below them caught his eye, glinting in the light from dusty street lanterns. Zooming in with his mask, Corvo checked to see if things could possibly be that easy. They weren’t.

Hearing the shift in his lenses, Daud turned to look at him. “What.”

“Just a few coins, no key,” he hissed, indicating the low banister framing the steps leading into the house below.

To his left, Daud huffed in annoyance. “Hatters. Always putting their dirty cuffs where they don’t belong.”

On his signal, Thomas transversed down, choked out one Hatter while the other had his back to him and then knocked them out with a sleep dart. Following his path, Corvo and Daud made their way down. While Daud and Thomas dragged the bodies into the shadows, Corvo pocketed the money and then looked around. On a rickety wooden table tucked against the brick, there was some food and a note – or, rather, a to do list. 

> _\- Loot that one place_
> 
> _\- Get even with Craxton_
> 
> _\- That key me and Chauncy nicked from the Watch can get us inside the Legal District. We'll get some nice pawnables from the lawyer types tonight. I put the key upstairs for now._
> 
> _\- Brush my teeth this week_

“Good to know,” Corvo murmured under his breath. When Daud appeared at his shoulder, he showed him the list. “Key’s upstairs.”

Steps from inside the building, coming closer, sent them scattering.

“Huh?” The Hatter made a confused sound when he found the yard empty. Not one to waste time, Corvo blinked behind him and put him to sleep, carrying him towards where Daud and Thomas had deposited the other two. Another Hatter hadn’t been far behind this one – Thomas took care of him.

Daud’s eyes bled black, looking up. “One more walking on the second floor, one dead or unconscious.”

They scavenged what they could, then made quick work of the remaining Hatter. The building looked about as run down as most, ever since the Plague had hit the city: furniture crammed into the upper stairwell to barricade roof access, peeling wallpaper, mould, and furniture half-eaten by the rats, on account of when they couldn’t find any bones to gnaw on.

Rounding a corner, Corvo found the one Daud had pronounced dead or unconscious, lying on a cot.

“Chauncy, I presume.” True enough, there was the key, and Corvo didn’t have to feel for a pulse to know the man was dead. He had the sickly pallor of a Plague victim, even if there wasn’t any blood streaming from his eyes. Perhaps the others had taken care of him before it could come to that.

“Corvo?” Daud entered the room.

“Got the key.” Corvo held it up so he could see.

“Then we need to get going.”

Corvo stalled. “Craxton’s one of Slackjaw’s men.”

“So?”

“Might want to let him know a Hatter’s holding a grudge.”

Daud shrugged. “If you must.” Then, he turned towards the doors facing the street. Behind him, Corvo internalised a sigh. In hindsight, he much preferred it when Daud was giving him grief over his ‘soft spot’ for the Bottle Street Gang. At least it meant he was talking.

“We have an outpost on a roof across from Timsh’s house,” Thomas commented as he abruptly appeared next to Corvo. “There’ll be supplies there, as well as a map of the house and any reconnaissance notes I got from Galia.”

“Let’s go.”

Incapacitating a few lower Watch guards and an officer, they passed unseen into the Legal District, Corvo shaking his head when Thomas passed him the note one of the officers had pinned to the checkpoint door: 

> _Cap took the key._
> 
> _If you need it, good luck. He's down the street at the Almshouse._

_Only the Captain didn’t manage to hold on to it for very long_ , Corvo thought uncharitably. A proper overhaul of the Watch was long overdue.

Corvo would keep the key. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Yep, once upon a time, Jess made Corvo promise that if he ever found someone he could and wanted to be with openly, he'd tell her. Or, y'know, if he ever fell for a super dangerous assassin with a knife collection and a badass scar.  
> b) Hatter's To Do List, low chaos version: http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/To_Do_List  
> c) Missing key note: http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Missing_Key_Note


	4. Who by common trial (Daud)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo and Daud meet a nightmare in cold marble. The Timsh Job, part 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting Chapter 3 last week gave me the incredible gift of having my characters receive relationship counselling from my readers. I have never been so happy. One word of warning: they'll need some more in this one.
> 
> We are SO close to actual talking, though. SO CLOSE.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one!! <3

**DAUD'S LOG**

> _25, Month of Earth, 1837_
> 
> _He knew. The black-eyed bastard knew that when I abducted the Empress and her daughter, everything would fall to pieces. He watched me do it anyway, and now the world’s gone mad. Plague grinds the city down. Corruption rots. Corvo and I roam the streets by night, seeking revenge._
> 
> _One more job shouldn’t have mattered. I’d killed nobles before. You could float a whaling ship on the noble blood I’ve spilt. Another noble steps in to replace the last one. All equally corrupt. Why should an Empress be different? But she was. I saw Corvo's face as he watched her fade away. Dead eyes. I knew I’d pay for this one. Maybe I deserve to._
> 
> _A storm is coming, that could shake apart everything I’ve built._
> 
> _3, Month of Harvest, 1837_
> 
> _Sokolov has finally arrived, and we have a new target. I know we need him. I know he changed Dunwall, changed the Empire. But I was content forgetting that we left the Empress in his home, until such time as we have use for her again. Maybe today marks the end of that small world._
> 
> _14, Month of Darkness, 1837_
> 
> _For six months, the city has writhed and changed. For six months, I tried to forget that I failed Jessamine, and her little girl. But there's no forgetting._
> 
> _The Overseers have stormed our hide-out. I need to find my next move, but all I have is that name: Delilah. Who is she? One lead we might have had has already burnt to ash — Rothwild's slaughterhouse. A ship named Delilah — it could be a coincidence. But it’s not. In Dunwall, things are always tangled up like a bag of snakes._
> 
>  
> 
>  

* * *

Timsh had been on the Whalers’ list of potential jobs for years. Greedy and ruthless, Timsh didn’t need any incentive bigger than coin to betray those who came to him in good faith. Business partners, contractors… Barrister Arnold Timsh would bring a money lender to fall on their own sword. A staunch supporter of Hiram Burrows, he would have made it to City Barrister if the former Spymaster had had his way.

And now, he was rotting in Coldridge. A fate befitting the man who had sentenced so many to destitution with his schemes.

Daud slid a pair of sleep darts into his wrist bow from the stash on the roof opposite the Timsh estate. Below, guards of the City Watch were patrolling the square – unlike before. Timsh had preferred to be guarded by soldiers rather than the Watch, their scarlet uniforms a Void-damned eyesore among the increasing deterioration of the district. Thalia had scaled back these efforts and generally kept only a few officers in her detail. Hearing about some of the shouting matches she and her uncle had fought over the years, Daud suspected she was rather in favour of civil unrest than afraid of it.

“We’ll go in over the balcony on the top floor,” Daud addressed Thomas. “Once we’re alone with Thalia, stand guard. You know the signal.”

Thomas nodded. “Yes, sir.” Then, he looked to Corvo.

Corvo didn’t react for a moment, merely staring back, but then seemed to catch on. “That’s all, Thomas,” he said, managing not to make it sound like a question and projecting enough confidence for Thomas to nod and vanish.

Daud ground his teeth – Corvo might not know to recognise it as impertinence, but Daud had received the _message_ well enough. The tension between him and Corvo had been palpable that day at the pub, as Thomas had given them the report on what the Hatters had been up to in Drapers Ward.

Daud should have known better than to get himself into that kind of situation with Corvo — but then, how should he have known that _that_ would happen? But what smarted worse than his own lapse in judgement were Corvo's words afterwards. They still did now, as he knew the distance between them precisely because he kept measuring out the paces.

Over the heads of the guards, they blinked across balconies, roofs, and street lamps until they landed on the balcony across from the South side of the house. Calling on Void Gaze, Daud noted that no-one was currently on the top floor — except for the statue. He hadn’t believed Galia the first time she’d told them that the statue had the same golden hue as living creatures did when seen through the eyes of the Void. Instead, Daud had chewed her out for entering the house when he’d expressly commanded the Whalers not to risk it. In response, Galia had dragged him and Kieron out on patrol and told him to take a look for himself.

And now, there she was again, a nightmare cast in cold marble. He was about to transverse across when something distant tugged at his awareness. He stopped. Thomas, of course — Corvo, the Heart… ah. Checking behind him, he saw the pulse of a rune.

Later.

Chancing a glance at Corvo, Daud found him doing the same, then nodding.

Thomas appeared next to them. “She’s waiting in her uncle’s study, first floor. All guard personnel seem to be consigned to the ground floor.”

“Let’s get inside.”

And a good thing, too, as Timsh’s study did not exactly yield a lot of privacy. Two doors led into the room on either side, but the East side of the room opened into the hall. As the upper floor was empty, Thomas would watch the entrance to the library and the staircase leading below. Had Daud come alone, he'd have contented himself with two or three of Sokolov's stun mines to be safe, but as it was, they didn't have to take the risk.

“Daud,” Thalia greeted him as he and Corvo stepped out of the shadows. “Royal Protector.” Corvo tensed, but didn’t acknowledge her greeting. Thalia smiled. “Oh please, as if it needed a genius to put two and two together – or should I say, rats and assassins.”

She stood from her uncle’s desk – _her_ desk now. At least, in all but name.

“I hate this house,” she volunteered, “I can’t sleep upstairs, not with that… thing. If I could, I would tear the whole thing down, with everything in it – but I can’t, until I have the will. My uncle’s associates swear they don’t have it, and peculiar as he was about security, I’m inclined to believe them. It used to be here, but I’ve turned the place upside down, tried out all his keys on all the locks, and it’s not anymore. He stashed it somewhere, or had someone do it for him.”

“The statue, can we see it?” Daud asked, ignoring her diatribe.

“Ah ah,” Thalia raised her hand in admonishment – Daud could have forgiven her the insult if not for her arrogance so obviously born from wealth. “Get me the will, and you can do with her what you like. I’ll tell you everything I know.” Some small part of her façade breaking, she shuddered. “He used to talk to her—it. A statue, as though it was alive.”

Daud’s skin began to crawl. Next to him, Corvo shifted his weight.

“We’re going to have to take a look at the house ourselves. Make sure you didn’t miss anything.”

Thalia shrugged. “Be my guests. But you won’t get the key to the studio until I have the will.”

“Fine. We’ll start upstairs.”

*

As much as people were probably convinced that assassins spent all their nights murdering and stealing, they would be surprised to hear how much time was actually wasted on paperwork (at least if you wanted to run a profitable operation), reports, and digging around in other people’s things, feeling under furniture for hidden switches and searching for blackmail material or whatever else they happened to be hiding.

Uncomfortably reminded of the night they’d raided Burrows’ private residence for evidence of his involvement in Jessamine’s death and the Rat Plague, Daud and Corvo went to search Timsh’s private rooms, and while they did find irrefutable proof that Timsh was indeed paying off doctors to keep his mother in her coma, there was no will, nor reference to it.

“Think she was right? Someone hid it for him?” Corvo asked as he stood in the middle of Timsh’s private office, arms crossed over his chest.

“If so, then it must have been someone who used to work for him,” Daud said, rifling through the papers inside the desk for what had to be the _third_ time. If nothing jumped out at them soon, they’d have to start actually reading all of what they did find.

“He could have paid someone off.”

“Maybe, but who would he talk to? Inside Coldridge, he has no leverage left, the gangs wouldn’t lift a finger for him.”

“Who said it was one of the gangs? There’s more than enough guards who need the money.”

Daud paused, standing upright. “So he bought off another officer.”

“For a man of the Watch, it’d be easy enough to sneak in here at shift change.” More so seeing as so many of them were blatantly incompetent, Daud thought.

“It must have happened right after the arrest,” Daud reminded him. “The keys were seized and given to Thalia within days; unless he had a spare on him they didn’t find…”

“So now the question is, where.”

“Not so fast,” Daud warned. “We have a theory.”

“And theories were meant to be tested,” Corvo returned with a hint of smugness; and Daud knew exactly where Emily got it from, as had been never more obvious than when she’d talked him into taking an empty room at the Tower. Well, he’d _let_ himself be talked into it. He could have easily refused her offer entirely, and told her that him staying at the Tower, even occasionally, was impossible. He hadn’t, though. _An assassin with a soft spot for the Empress_ , he thought bitterly, thoughts turning even darker when he considered that that didn’t apply only to the little one. Being at the Tower so often – certainly more often now than he’d ever been before her death – reminded him of _her_ absence in a way he had not expected to feel quite so keenly. That, too, had been different while they were cut off from the rest of Dunwall, hidden at the Hound Pits.

“Alright,” Daud challenged, dropping the papers he’d been holding, and rounded the desk. “And where do we start looking?”

“It has to be close by, Timsh wouldn’t risk sending someone through to the other end of the district.”

“We knew he’s been deliberately evicting citizens from their properties in this quarter, especially if they’re competitors,” Daud agreed.

“If he’s bought any of them for himself, or through one of his associates, that narrows it down.”

Daud sighed. “Title register’s over there,” he pointed. “I’ll go through his papers one more time.”

***

**AN HOUR LATER**

“Or we could have gone for the rune first thing,” Daud grumbled as he vaulted over the balcony. Once they had dragged information out of Thalia about the one mysterious key that, now that they mentioned it, indeed hadn’t fit any of the storage boxes and chests in the house (and that she'd assumed to open the studio), they’d seen their way clear to Apartment 10. Daud scoffed.

The apartment had been scrubbed clean recently, the stench of chemicals still in the air. A few notes pinned to the mantle over the cold fireplace revealed this place to have been the home of a cultist. Daud could hear the hissing of the rune from here – but why was it still here? Surely it would have been found and taken.

Corvo had ventured farther inside, and was now calling for him. “Daud, help me move this!”

Daud rounded the corner and coming up against a tall cabinet, he understood. While he and Corvo heard the call of the Void, anyone else would not. And so, the hiding place of the rune – and whatever else – had remained intact.

Together, they heaved the cupboard away from the wall, stepping back quickly when it snagged on a floorboard and tipped over. When nobody seemed to have been alerted by the resounding crash, Daud climbed over it and into the hidden room.

Paintings, a few pouches of money, a lockbox full of assorted documents – and a shrine, the violet glow of the lanterns spilling out through the hole in the wall behind them. Daud sighed. He exchanged a look with Corvo, then clenched his fist.

In an instant, Thomas materialised next to them. “Daud?” he asked, obviously bewildered at being called away from his guard post – Daud had told him to stay with Thalia, just in case.

Daud swallowed, then gestured towards the shrine. Thomas took it in with a long look, then turned to face him again. “Sir?”

“It’s good if you… if you know what happens,” Daud rasped. Unbidden, the memory of Billie once asking him what the Outsider smelled like, of all things. Wondering if He’d ever speak to her as well. She’d been planning for it.

Finally, Thomas seemed to understand. Stepping back, he fell into position next to Corvo, a few paces away. Daud looked to Corvo.

“I’ve no desire to speak with Him tonight,” was all Corvo said.

Daud held his gaze, then stepped forward – and the world fell away.

“Daud.” His name spoken with casual distaste – a far more cordial greeting than he’d have expected. “You actually managed it. You put a child on the throne of the Empire.”

“You knew,” Daud walked forward. Where were they today? Ah. The remains of Rudshore Gate, scattered across the Void – one could hardly call it sky, even when there weren’t whales floating overhead. The Outsider, for his part, was hovering above a sea of corpses and Weepers. Picturesque.

“We should speak more often, Daud, if all I hear from you is grief over things that happened so many of your months ago. Corvo has been far more accommodating than you."

But Daud was not done. “You knew they were coming, and you used _her_.”

The Outsider tilted his head. "At the last moment you seem to be acquiring a curious sense of justice. Funny how the final days always mean so much.”

“And you shouldn’t mistake pragmatism for loyalty,” Daud volleyed back. He jerked his chin at the scene before him. “What’s this supposed to be? Art?”

In an instant, the Void god blinked across the expanse between them. “It’s your future,” he hissed.

Daud couldn’t help it. He let out an ungainly snort. “I had no idea you had a thing for bad theatre – bad theatrics, that I knew.”

Suddenly, the Outsider vanished before him and appeared again at his back. Daud’s hackles rose as the Void brushed over his neck, death moulded into a lover’s caress. “I’m here because this time, you can’t just fade away into the shadows. There will be consequences. Your story is close to ending, and even you can’t escape it. But what ending will you make for yourself? I’m here to give you one last gift, Daud. It’s a mystery. One that starts with a name.”

“Delilah.” Daud didn’t dare turn his head, didn’t dare step away, even as the Outsider’s voice in his ear chilled him to the bone. He didn’t know what was eerier – the fact that even this close, he felt no air, no breath, against his skin, or that for all he knew about the Void god’s inhumanity, he still somehow expected it.

“Exactly.”

“What do you know about her?” Daud pressed, even knowing it would likely yield him no answers.

“The Barrister was a champion at finding his enemy's weak points, but he didn't see Delilah as a threat until it was too late. No one's watching Delilah now, except you and Corvo. And me of course.”

“Just spit it out,” Daud’s impatience got the better of him. Something brushed his shoulders.

“This is the Empire your dear Emily will be heir to should you fail. I see everything. I see forever, and right now I see a man walking a tightrope over a sea of blood and filth.”

“She is not alone,” Daud countered.

“Even so. You'd better hurry. You're running out of rope.”

Wrenched from the Void, Daud snapped out of the daze. He was on his knees, he noted absently.

“You were in a trance,” Thomas was by his side in a second, but mercifully kept his hands to himself. Daud righted himself and stood, clenching his teeth against the lingering effects of the Void.

“He knows her,” he told Corvo.

“He _marked_ her?”

“Didn’t say that,” Daud pushed past Corvo to get at the lockbox. He was about to search it when Corvo tapped his arm. Looking up, Daud saw that he was holding a sealed document, tied with the scarlet ribbon used only by barristers. It was almost too easy.

*

Daud handed Thalia the will, ribbon loose between his fingers.

“You read it,” she dealt the accusation.

“Don’t like being lied to,” Daud said simply. “You won’t like this, either.”

Thalia shot them both a dark look, then she unrolled the parchment and began to read. When she was done, she dropped the will on the desk and sat down. Contrary to the resignation he had anticipated, she instead set her elbows on the wood and steepled her fingers together, a calculating expression on her face.

“He’s giving it all to her,” she murmured, as if she’d quite forgotten they were there.

“Thalia,” Daud interrupted her. “Who is she? What’s your uncle’s connection to Delilah?”

She looked up, caught off guard for a moment, but then she collected herself. “Of course, you were promised information. Well, my uncle came under Delilah’s spell. He was obsessed with her. Everyone knew she’d been a servant at the Tower before she studied under Sokolov. She was a painter, an artist. Beneath my family’s class, for certain. Nevertheless, my uncle became infatuated.”

“She was his mistress?” Daud had suspected this, but to have it confirmed put a few things in perspective. As did that _small_ detail about Anton Sokolov.

“An open secret, yes, though at least her identity was not known to everyone in our circle. He wouldn’t let her go, but he looked older, and made us keep candles lit all night. He was afraid of the dark. He even pawned the ship he'd named after her off on a whaler, Bundry Rothwild. I thought that might be the end of it, but it wasn't. One night, we all went to Waverly Boyle’s for a séance. It was an amusement. We didn’t know what we were doing. I thought only the dead appeared at séances. But suddenly, Delilah was in the room with us. My uncle nearly died of terror. She was there, but not there. We saw her as if she was very far away, standing in the old Brigmore Manor, painting at an easel, painting a name. It was your name, Daud.”

Dread surged through him. “When was this?”

“I don’t know, exactly. A while ago. Before the Empress’s death,” Thalia added. She stood, the will back in her hands. “I won’t let my rightful place go to her."

“Then don’t,” Daud barked. “Burn it. Say it’s lost. Forge one more to your liking. I don’t care.”

“Is he always like this once he has what he wants?” Thalia asked Corvo, her tone dropping about as low as her garters.

“There’s one more thing,” Daud reminded her before Corvo could reply. When Thalia looked at him quizzically, he held out his hand. “The key to the studio.”

*

Delilah. Even though he’d seen her only once, he knew that the sculpture did her cruel beauty justice.

Corvo took Daud by the elbow before he could get too close. “Delilah knew?”

Daud didn't have to ask what he meant. If Delilah knew that Daud was an obstacle to her plan before Empress Jessamine's death, then she was playing the long game. “If she did, why didn’t she interfere?”

Corvo chewed on that for a moment. “She was waiting.”

“But for what? For us to fail? Or to succeed?”

“I don't know. Now what?” Corvo asked.

 _Daud._ For the second time that night, the Void called his name, startling them both. On her pedestal above them, the statue came to life, the marble transforming, its movements fluid, the stone like painted flesh.

“Who are you?”

_I understand your curiosity. I’m strange. I was a baker’s apprentice in Dunwall Tower, a friend to Jessamine when we were girls. Then – afterward – I made my name as a painter. Now I’m obviously something much greater. I hope that satisfies you, because you won’t get more. I ought to just kill you both, but I’m going to give you a warning for the sake of my sisters, who were very impressed with you, Daud, once upon a time: stay away from me! There are great changes coming, and I’ll expect you not to interfere. I have influence in places you won’t expect._

As the statue reverted to its lifeless state, Daud felt as though the ground was shifting beneath his feet. Slowly, the turned to look at Corvo.

“A _friend_ to Jessamine?” he growled.

Behind his mask, Corvo was silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Is Daud still in a funk? Yes. Yes, he is.  
> b) The Outsider's garbling moonshine again, and a lot of that I nicked from his dialogue in The Knife of Dunwall and Brigmore Witches, respectively.  
> c) Thalia's is almost entirely from The Knife of Dunwall.  
> d) Ayyyyyy Delilah just always knows what to say to throw a spanner in the works.  
> e) There will be TALKING in Chapter 5. Woohoo!


	5. Who in her lonely slip (Corvo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo and Daud finally have that talk. Corvo also has breakfast, twice, and a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooooo here we are, babies! Corvo and Daud are finally going to sit down and have a chat, about trust and friendship and other things.
> 
> I repeat: THEY ARE TALKING. Oh god, finally.
> 
> Updated playlist: [listen on youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).  
> It's also available on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/ama_23/playlist/2Z4scYeDqJb2kfZLOZrqF2?si=ZDhV_FDrTDuoxniAcccOrw).

When Corvo didn’t respond, Daud exhaled noisily. “Did you know?”

“I’ve spoken to the Heart,” was all Corvo was prepared to give. If they were going to argue about this, they weren’t going to do it here.

Hearing the finality in his tone, Daud scowled. “We’re not done.” Then, he shouldered past Corvo, summoning Thomas as he went. Corvo felt the tug and usually, he barely paid it any mind, but in that moment there was pain in a call that he wasn’t meant to answer.

He looked up at the statue of Delilah. The memory Jessamine had painted of her had been that of a little girl, sweet and soft-spoken. The woman they’d met today spoke through the Void, and with none of the sweetness of a friend. Knowing he would receive no more answers from her, he turned and left the room.

*

Their journey back the Hound Pits pub was tense and silent, even more so because the sewers were still infested with river krust and they could not afford to set them off. Blinking and transversing past the ones they couldn’t evade by crawling up on the pipes, they still made good time.

Once they emerged in the abandoned apartment – made into a dorm of a sort since Corvo had last seen it – Daud sent Thomas off to get some rest.

“There’s a bottle of Old Dunwall in my office,” Daud said, and even if it wasn’t a peace offering, Corvo would treat it as one until they could put this behind them.

“Sounds good,” he replied, not bothering holding back his exhaustion as he removed his mask, wiping the sweat from his forehead and blinking a few times, adjusting to the absence of the lenses.

One thing that Corvo had learnt while repeatedly visiting the school in the Flooded District and then living with the Whalers in close quarters: someone was always awake. So he wasn’t surprised when a few of them – Misha, Dimitri, Aeolos, and Quinn were hanging about in the taproom, talking quietly amongst themselves. At Daud and Corvo’s entrance, they raised _all_ of their hands in greeting, which reminded Corvo how young most of them still were, a fact generally obscured not only by their masks, but by the nature of the work they did, and the focus and dedication with which they went about it. When they weren’t tossing each other into the canal during training, at least.

“About to head out, boss,” Misha addressed Daud. “Anything special you want us to pay attention to?”

“River krust have spread further into the Tower District. Be on the lookout when you get close.”

“Will do. You ok with us mucking about down there while you’re not home, Corvo?” She was teasing – Daud’s word was law, and if he wanted them to patrol the Tower District, then they would – but Corvo recognised that for the Whalers, obedience was simple, hierarchy and deference were not. Their understanding and performance of it as they managed novices, masters, and Daud’s own demands as well as a new second-in-command was as complex as any court’s; and while Billie’s betrayal and departure had shaken things up considerably, it had been Corvo and Emily’s addition to their dynamic months earlier that should have become a breaking point, something he had not worried about nearly enough when he’d first started training with Daud. Why the Whalers had decided to accept him as early as that, he had no idea – at first, he hadn’t even realised. (It had taken Rulfio rolling his eyes at him when he’d questioned it.) So while she was joking, she was doing so for a reason.

“Just don’t get into the wine cellar again, the cooks do notice when something goes missing,” Corvo opted for humour – two could play at this game, and in Misha’s twitching smile, he saw that she recognised _his_ deference to hierarchy.

Daud wasn’t smiling. “Go on, get going. The others are going to be itching to leave already.”

“Boss.”

As one, the Whalers scooted out of the booth and vanished, Aeolos and Quinn smiling cheerily at Corvo before donning their masks. He’d given them a few more footwork lessons in the months since the first, and they’d responded well to his advice. Raucous as they were, they’d had a knack for keeping Emily company and distracting her, their age difference of only two or three years easier to bridge than for, say, Rinaldo; even though Corvo suspected he would never be unseated as Emily’s favourite Whaler — except perhaps by the man next to him.

Left alone with Daud, Corvo reminded himself of the conversation they were about to have.

“You mentioned whiskey?”

*

Daud’s glass landed on the desktop with a solid _thunk_ , and Corvo absently marvelled that it didn’t shatter.

“How long have you known?” Daud didn’t bare his teeth, but it was close enough. He was tense, coiling for a fight, his shoulders drawn up in a way Corvo had never seen before. Daud did not make himself small.

Corvo took a generous sip first, letting the liquor burn down his throat – buying himself time, and they both knew it. He didn’t grimace at the taste, too used to what Dunwall distilleries churned out by now, dark and bitter around the edges and never as smooth as whiskey from Cullero.

“I first asked her whether she knew of anyone named Delilah about a month after the attack. Up until then, we’d talked about what happened, but she didn’t… volunteer any information until I asked her for help, asked her if she could see anything, through the Void.” Corvo mostly tried to refer to the Heart as just that, both to avoid confusion and to… to make it easier, but this was Jessamine’s past, her family, and he couldn’t—there were no lines the sand for this.

“Why didn’t… she tell you as soon as you mentioned the witch's name?” Daud asked, and before Corvo could feel any gratitude that he was going along with it, righteous anger reared its head.

“She was a child, and there is more than one woman named Delilah in the Empire,” he defended.

“But only the one witch!” Daud _was_ snarling now. Corvo forced himself to breathe through his nose to keep calm, to keep from saying something he could not take back – he’d already made that mistake once too many.

Corvo had an idea where all this was coming from – Delilah had turned Billie against Daud, had convinced her to betray her family. To Daud, this wasn’t a job any more than getting the throne back had been for Corvo. It was Daud who’d pulled him back from the edge more than once. In this moment, Corvo realised that, in time, it might fall to him to return the favour.

“I’m so—” he stopped himself just in time. _No apologies, no excuses_ , he recalled Billie’s letter. “I should have told you, I know that.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Daud demanded roughly, and the blunt wording of the question did nothing to hide the rawness of his voice, catching Corvo off guard for a moment. This wasn’t just about Daud being denied vital information – it was _Corvo_ denying him what he had a right to know. Corvo squashed the impulse to reach across the desk, to ground them both with a hand on Daud's arm, to remind him of the connection between them.

 _‘I’ve never lied to you.’_ Daud’s words the morning he’d first seen the Heart came back to him. The morning Corvo had first used it on him, on his own orders. Briefly, Corvo considered taking the Heart from his coat and asking Jessamine to tell Daud in her own words, but chances were that _that_ was a bad idea.

Trust between them had never been absolute, couldn’t have been, until the night of the Overseer attack and their mad, powerless dash across rooftops to protect Emily. But it had been then, and since, and now… after losing Billie the way they had, it was Corvo who was putting this at risk.

“I was protecting her,” he rasped, forcing himself to look Daud in the eye. “She blamed herself for never trying to find her friend, and I didn’t… she kept saying something had happened, as though it was her fault, and I—I wanted to be sure it was the same Delilah,” he admitted, the weight of what he was saying heavy in his own heart.

For a long moment, Daud didn’t speak. Eventually, he said, “Your loyalty is to your Empress. I understand.”

“Emily is my Empress,” Corvo responded forcefully, anger returning. He wouldn’t let Daud misrepresent this, no matter how well he knew _why_.

“Your dead lover, then, does that help?” Daud tongue was as precise as his blade, when it wanted to be – and tonight, it _wanted_ to; and his eyes were dark and accusing and _beautiful_. Corvo clenched his fist where Daud couldn't see.

“Daud, that is not what this is about.”

“What’s _that_?”

“Our friendship,” Corvo blurted before he could think of anything more eloquent. And perhaps more likely to draw Daud’s immediate ire.

“Corvo—”

“No, listen to me. I loved Jessamine,” Corvo watched as Daud’s expression shuttered, and he scrambled to continue, “and I always will, but that doesn’t mean that anything I do will be—”

“Stop,” Daud barked. “We’re not having this conversation.”

“Why?”

“We don’t need to.” The way Daud said it, it was as good as an imperial decree. Before Corvo could object, he continued, “I’m leaving Dunwall after this is over, and until then, all I do ask is that you tell me what you know. As my _friend_.”

Perhaps, in a few years, Corvo would be able to laugh at the mess they’d gotten themselves in. Right then, all he could do was stare at the man across from him. That thick-headed, self-sacrificing, obtuse—

“You kissed me,” Corvo growled, too far gone now to shy away from it. _You kissed him first_ , his traitorous conscience chose to remind him.

“Don’t throw that in my face like you know what you _want_ ,” Daud shot back; and in any other situation, they’d be at each other’s throats at this point, down in the kennels – they _had been_ , many times. Instead, they were still sitting down, leaning heavily on the desk, whiskey long forgotten.

“But you do?” Corvo delivered a blow of his own, and watched it land as Daud now did push away from the desk and turned away, although he didn’t stand – nowhere to go in a room in this small. Corvo blinked when he realised what he had – more on instinct than through reason – inadvertently inferred from Daud’s words. Softer, he repeated, “You do?”

Going by the shadow that twisted over Daud’s face, Corvo may as well have stabbed him.

“Corvo… don’t ask this of me,” he rasped, his voice heavy with what was not a warning, but a plea, sending a familiar shiver down Corvo's back.

In an effort not to trip over the first thing that came to mind (again), Corvo mentally counted to ten before answering. “You do not owe me your confidence, Daud. If it is your wish, we will never discuss this again, but if… if this is causing you pain—”

“And to tell you would set me free?” Daud’s sarcasm had teeth.

“It will if you expected my judgement.”

Daud sent him a look succinctly declaring him a fool. “Your _judgement_ of my life is not something I lose sleep over, bodyguard.”

“Clearly,” Corvo returned impulsively. “But neither of us can claim being blind to how things between us have changed.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Daud insisted, lying through his teeth and stubborn as a Dunwall baker’s cart mule.

 _He would not believe me if I told him_ , the Outsider's words rang in Corvo's ears. If Daud wasn’t going to put his cards on the table, then Corvo would have to take the first step.

 _Alright_ , Corvo thought, _one last try_. “I am drawn to you,” he offered freely, watching as Daud’s eyes widened, if only by a fraction. “In a way that I’ve only ever been drawn to very few people in my life. I want to be your friend, of that I am certain. But what happened between us when we sparred, and before… that’s different,” he finished quietly.

Daud’s gaze was searching, carving into Corvo and searching for even a scrap of deceit, or uncertainty. After a while, he said, “What I did—what I used to do, I did for coin.” The seeming non-sequitur puzzled Corvo for a moment, but he didn’t interrupt. Daud wasn’t a man to waste his words. “Once we came here… things changed. My reasons did, too. The Whalers, Jessamine, Emily — you. I am no fool, Corvo, I know what you’re too polite to ask. I would hazard that… perhaps, after the last time we sparred, you don’t have to.”

At the admission, through however many layers, Corvo went very still, struggling to contain his own reaction. “Then what do you—” he interrupted himself there, because ‘want’ seemed like such a loaded phrase at this juncture, and presumptuous, too.

Daud gave him no time to recover. “I’m leaving, Corvo,” he changed the course of their conversation yet again.

Corvo nodded, willing to follow if they could just come to an agreement at the end of this. “I know.” At Daud’s blank look, he added, “Did you expect me to protest? To tell you to stay?”

Daud said nothing, but there was something twisting in his eyes.

"I wouldn't do that," Corvo said quietly.

"I can't stay, and not just because everyone knows my face," Daud eventually answered.

“I know,” Corvo admitted, irritation quickly fading now. “I understand.”

The look Daud gave him was dubious, and that rankled, but Corvo was too exhausted to call him on that, too.

The fight seemed to have gone out of them both, at least for tonight. Slumped into their seats, they looked every inch the tired men they were, and Corvo dreaded having to make his way back to the Tower in only a few hours. Rubbing his brow, Daud heaved a sigh, the exhalation somehow more revealing than what had preceded it. Daud wasn't inclined to share his burdens, much less admit he _had_ them.

Corvo watched as Daud suddenly stood. “Daud?”

“It’s four hours until dawn,” was all Daud said, standing halfway between the desk and the door.

Recognising Daud’s way of asking to be left alone, Corvo nodded, although he couldn’t stop the sad smile twisting his mouth. “Of course,” he agreed, knowing very well what else he was agreeing to. By rights, he should be relieved – for the sake of propriety, for the sake of the job they had to do. He wasn’t. “Good night, Daud,” he murmured with that same, rueful smile, and in turning away he barely caught Daud’s wince.

Daud, for his part, caught Corvo’s wrist and tugged him back toward him and then, upending Corvo’s world in but a moment, pulled him closer and pressed a chaste kiss to Corvo’s temple. When he leaned back, Corvo looked up at him in mute surprise. Daud’s face didn’t give much away when he rumbled, “Good night, Corvo.” Releasing him, Daud nodded towards the door. “Your old room is free.”

Corvo fought down the voice that told him he wanted to stay exactly where he was. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and left the room. As he closed the door behind himself, his stomach in knots, he knew it would take more than a scarce three hours of rest to wrap his head around what he’d just done.

***

The 'next morning' could barely be called that, quickly and mercilessly as it was upon them. Sitting across from each other in one of the booths in the main room of the pub as they had so often before, Corvo didn't bother hiding his lack of sleep. Even after bedding down in the familiar surroundings of what used to be 'his' room, he'd slept only lightly and continued being woken by the slightest noise.

Daud arrived downstairs only minutes after Corvo had settled down, surprised how easy it was to fall back into this routine of preparing his own breakfast from what was laid out on the bar, either by Lydia, Cecelia, or the Whalers themselves before heading out for patrol or training. Waking up at the Tower, he still sometimes felt disoriented.

They hadn't spoken much beyond their greetings at this point, but this silence, broken occasionally by the clatter of cutlery and the odd Whaler waking early and saying good morning (and then promptly making themselves scarce, making Corvo wonder just a little), was so much more like what he remembered from months ago that he felt a wave of relief wash through him. He remembered, too, thinking that sometimes it was better when words weren’t needed.

“Samuel is ready to take you back to the Tower, Corvo,” Thomas informed them as he appeared next to their table a few minutes later.

Corvo washed the last of his breakfast down with the dregs of his coffee and nodded. “Thanks.” Thomas nodded and vanished.

Deciding to take a chance, Corvo casually remarked, “They’re all gone awfully fast this morning.”

Daud didn’t look up from the apple he was cutting into precise halves, then quarters, then eighths. “They’re busy.”

“I'm starting to think they don’t like it when we argue,” Corvo responded with a shrug and the most blasé attitude he was able to muster this early in the morning.

Daud narrowed his eyes, picking up an apple slice and devouring it as though it might suffer the pain in Corvo’s stead. Corvo didn’t fight the smile that emerged at that — perhaps a bit _too_ brightly, because Daud gave him a disgusted look.

“Sun’s not even up yet. Get out.”

“Tomorrow?” Corvo couldn’t help but ask as he got up.

“Tomorrow,” Daud grunted. “I have information on Hypatia, and we need to have a word with Sokolov.”

“Good. I’ll see you then,” Corvo said, and got moving. At the main door, he turned around to look at Daud, who was watching him walk away with dark eyes, and looking possibly the grumpiest he’d ever seen him.

*

“You seem in better spirits than yesterday, Corvo, if you don’t mind my saying,” Samuel commented kindly a few minutes after they’d cast off.

“I am,” Corvo smiled at the boatman. Samuel was trustworthy, never one for gossip, and Corvo was glad to have someone to talk to even about this who wouldn’t judge. “Daud’s decision to leave… complicated things.”

Samuel’s eyebrows rose in surprise.  “What if you offered him a position at the Tower?”

“He wouldn’t accept one if I did. No, I think… I think he needs to leave to be able to come back, if he ever wants to. Dunwall is not the right place for him now, or for the Whalers. They’ll need to find something new.”

Samuel hummed in consideration. “Emily’ll miss them.”

“Yeah,” Corvo said quietly. “She will.”

***

As it turned out, Corvo was back at the Tower well enough before dawn, so he was able to slip back into his own bed for a short while before one of the maids came knocking. This morning, though, Emily and Callista beat them to it – Corvo had actually managed to fall asleep, and was then woken abruptly when something heavy and approximately Empress-sized landed on his back.

“Emily,” Callista chided from the foot of the bed as he turned as far as he could without dislodging Emily, meeting his daughter’s bright eyes over his shoulder.

“It’s alright,” he mumbled, lifting his arm so Emily could fit herself into his side, obviously uncaring whether she crinkled her dress for the day. They would have to change her wardrobe soon, now that she was Empress, Corvo thought distractedly. Her dresses and suits were all those that befit a Princess, and no-one at Court would likely mind for some time, but eventually her status would have to be reflected in what she wore.

Realising that Callista was speaking, he briefly shook his head to clear his focus.

“I’m sorry, Callista, my thoughts were elsewhere. You mentioned your uncle?”

She nodded. “I received a letter from him this morning, it’s about Jameson. I would like to take some time before Emily’s tutors arrive begin to reply.”

“Of course,” Corvo assured her. “Take as long as you need.”

“Thank you, Corvo. I’ll be by later to pick you up for your lessons,” she addressed Emily in a sterner tone. Corvo’s hunch was confirmed when Emily hummed listlessly and hid her face in his shoulder.

Callista tilted her head, and Corvo nodded at her whilst Emily couldn’t see – he’d talk to her. Satisfied that her charge was in capable hands, Callista left them to their drowsiness and daydreaming, respectively. Corvo would have been content to close his eyes for another minute, but as soon as the door closed behind her governess, Emily’s head shot up and she poked him in the side.

“When did you get back? What happened, what did you find out?”

Ah. The Empress demanded her report, and rightly so. This was hardly something they could discuss during the Council meeting. Well, if he was expected to speak and make sense, the first step would be to sit up straight.

He conveyed as much to Emily by wrapping his arm around her back and heaving himself up. With a squeak, she clung to him as he righted himself, and then poked him again in retaliation as she settled against him.

“Now will you tell me?”

“If we can keep interruptions to a minimum,” he reminded her. “Questions will be answered in good time.” Listening at Court required patience, sometimes simply by virtue of the one giving their report being a bore.

Emily nodded. Corvo dragged a hand over his stubble and took a moment to collect his thoughts.

He told her about meeting Daud and Thomas at the sewer exit, told her about the Black Friar hotel and the Hatters holed up in there, told her about Thalia Timsh and her uncle’s schemes. When he got to the part about Delilah’s statue, Emily’s eyes widened comically and he knew she was bursting with questions, but restrained herself. Nodding at her approvingly to acknowledge her effort to be patient, Corvo relayed an… abridged version of what “Delilah” had told them.

When he was done, Emily’s first question surprised him although, perhaps, it shouldn’t have. “If Delilah worked here when she was young, did you know her? Did Mother?”

“It was before my time,” Corvo dodged the question, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t come back to haunt him as it had with Daud.

Emily fell silent, mulling over his words.

Corvo checked the alarm clock on his nightstand and discovered that it was past time for him to get ready. Against Emily’s protests, he climbed out of bed and went to his dresser to fetch clean clothes. His vest and coat would keep for another day, seeing as he had to leave the set he’d worn the day before behind before he left to give the laundry staff something to do. Quickly, he unfolded the folding screen tucked into the corner of the room and started changing.

“Is Daud coming to see you today?”

“He said tomorrow. Why?”

“I haven’t seen him in weeks,” Emily complained. Behind the screen, Corvo stopped moving for a moment, halfway into his trousers. He hadn’t told her that Daud was leaving – he felt that would be best to come from Daud himself, but how could it if the two of them barely saw each other? “Sometimes I wish we were back at the pub,” Emily added quietly.

Corvo leaned around the partition. “I understand, Em, but you know we can’t think like that. If we were still there, things in the city would be so much worse.”

“I know that, I'd just like to spend some time there, like you do.”

Corvo buttoned his shirt, his stomach kicking at the reminder of last night, and this morning. Hidden from Emily’s keen eyes, he winced at how _forward_ he’d been, teasing Daud about their argument and the Whalers' reactions that way. As for what would happen if Daud did decide to drop the pretence… Corvo could only guess; and some of those guesses made him think he knew rather better what he wanted than he should like to admit.

“At least Rinaldo is here,” he attempted to cheer her.

“It’s so strange, seeing him wear the Watch uniform,” Emily said just as he emerged, fully dressed except for his coat and boots. “But I’m glad he is.”

“Me, too. Come on,” he held out his hand. “Breakfast.”

***

That night, alone in his quarters, Corvo put off the inevitable for about as long as he could, but he knew he would not find rest before he had talked to Jess — the Heart — about the night before. About Delilah, he corrected himself.

Squeezing the Heart gently, Corvo watched as the shards began to glow.

_Corvo._

"It's her," he decided to get it over with, "the witch Delilah is the girl you used to play with."

For a moment, the Void was silent.  _Thank you for being honest_ _with me._

"Always," Corvo murmured, wishing it could have been as easy as telling her a lie that would release her from these profane bonds.

_Have you found out more about what she is planning?_

"Not entirely. We know that she knew about... Daud, before," he told her haltingly. "She knew something was coming, and we're not sure if she tried to stop it or... help it along. I suppose it's why she set her sights on Lurk."

 _Her betrayal wounds him still_.

For a moment, Corvo didn't quite know what to say. "It does. She was his second. He trusted her." Reminded of his own secrets, Corvo swallowed. "He trusted me, too."

_Corvo?_

He blinked, "He found out that I knew, about Delilah living here as a child. He was rather angry."

_Oh._

"Jess?"

_I sensed—I couldn't be sure._

Rubbing his brow, Corvo sighed. "Jess, I... Look, Daud and I talked about... what happened, and I..." He trailed off. This was _ridiculous_. The love of his life was dead, trapped in a Void artefact, and he—he was... what had he been _thinking_?

Definitely sensing his impending panic, the Heart thumped in his grasp, as if seeking to reassure him. Bizarrely, it worked. Struggling to settle his breathing, Corvo whispered, "Jess, what am I _doing_?"

 _You're falling in love_ , came her simple, terrifying answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Jess is the president of the Corvo x Daud Shipping Society, and if anyone doesn't like that, they are welcome to get their ass kicked in the Void.  
> b) "You mentioned whiskey?" CORVO YOU SMOOTH OPERATOR ~~no I'm kidding this man is not smooth he's a fucken nerd~~  
>  c) Corvo pulling a 'One Word From You Will Silence Me Forever' Darcy is KILLING ME.


	6. Who by barbiturate (Daud)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud thinks himself a fool. At the Tower, another revelation follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last week laid the foundation for this fic's second act, so we're moving swiftly onwards.
> 
> I'm so broken for these two. I CANNOT.
> 
> Hugs and kisses to everyone who's reading along!! xoxo
> 
> This week's playlist entry tells you exactly when during the writing process I got the urge to write the Naughty AU..... [Arsonist's Lullaby](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN)

After Corvo closed the door to the pub, Daud dropped the knife and put his head in his hands. He was a fool – and perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised at himself for being such a grand one.

Not confronting this had been just about the only thing keeping Daud from making even worse mistakes than he already had. That, and fundamentally misinterpreting Corvo’s intentions, apparently. And still, the imbalance there frightened him – Daud knew his own desires only far too well. What Corvo did to him… things Daud hadn’t felt, hadn’t thought about in a very long time, had come to the fore in a way he felt powerless to curb, which was perhaps the most damning part of it. For decades, Daud had been in control of his own destiny, or so he’d fancied himself.

And now, Corvo had left the door wide open, but for what? _To flirt outrageously with no fear of consequence?_ Daud thought somewhat unkindly, but he could not shake the thought that Corvo had been so forward precisely _because_ this would end, as it only could.

The truth was, he couldn’t decide this now, barely awake and anger still burning in his gut. Besides, he had an interview to conduct.

*

What Daud hadn’t told Corvo was that he had not only completed his background check on Alexandria Hypatia, he had also contacted Abigail Ames and set up a meeting. She had agreed willingly enough, which commended either her courage or her recklessness – which of the two it was, Daud was planning on finding out. He’d left Thomas and Rulfio in charge at the pub and made his way to the riverfront. She’d suggested Ramsey’s slaughterhouse as a meeting place, as she was obviously still working for him. Daud didn’t see that as a strike against her, necessarily, as Ramsey most likely paid her handsomely for services rendered in the process of taking down Rothwild’s facility.

Daud arrived early and scouted out the grounds and warehouses surrounding the slaughterhouse and killing room themselves. A little out of the way sat a building that looked comparatively new. Making his way closer, he realised it was a dorm for workers, looking very similar to soldier’s barracks – right down to the improvised card tables in the corners. Ames wanted to meet him near the South end of the compound, and this appeared to be roughly the right spot, so he settled in and waited. Below, workers and butchers went in and out, some ending their shifts while others were only just coming in. Daud surmised that the bunks were mostly in use when so many ships came in at once that the workers had to pull double shifts. As it was, whale oil rationing was only one imperial decree away, the rate whaling ships were making port in Dunwall these days.

At around the time they were due to meet, Daud spotted a woman who matched Ames’ description come out of the main building towards the barracks. She was moving confidently, keeping an eye on her surroundings but not drawing attention to herself by being too obvious about it. The secret of disappearing in any room was to act as though you owned it, Daud used to teach his novices, and Ames would have made for a decent training target.

Once out of sight from the main building and the warehouses, Ames stopped, leaning against a railing and lighting a cigarette. Daud ascertained that no-one had followed her and that they were indeed alone, then dropped into the shadows below. Using her blind spot, he came up on her right side.

“Ames.”

To her credit, she startled but didn’t make a sound as she whirled around to face him. Taking a breath to steady herself, she crossed her arms over her chest, raising a hand to take a deep drag, tilting her head back to blow the smoke out above their heads.

“Daud. Wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”

“I could say the same to you.”

She shrugged, her attitude a little _too_ cavalier to be authentic; but still, she knew how to hide it. Good. He could work with that.

“I keep my promises. Bundry Rothwild didn’t realise that until it was too late.”

“What happened to him?” Rothwild's disappearance had not truly concerned him at the time, as it seemed to be just one more sinister thing to happen in this wretched city as it was busy going to the dogs, but now Daud knew he should not have been so careless.

“Oh, don’t worry, he’s fine, in a manner of speaking. I hear Samara is lovely this time of year,” Ames' tone was darkly amused.

“You stuck him in one of his own shipping containers?” Daud returned flatly.

“Even put a few flasks of water and jellied eels in there.”

“What about the workers inside the factory?”

At this, she shot him a leery look. “Daud, developing a conscience? The workers were striking and Rothwild had taken their time cards away, they were all far away when it happened. Ramsey offered them new jobs after the slaughterhouse went under. Well, as for the butchers… I’m sure some of them made it out alive. Bastards.”

“You killed them when it could have been avoided.”

Ames scoffed. “You know, when the Empress and her daughter disappeared, I thought to myself, ‘The Empress should have hired someone like Daud to protect her. We'd be living in a different world now.’ The way you fight, the things you can do... you could change the Empire, if you set your mind to it, and I used to wonder why you never did. Looks like I was wrong.”

“You would do well not to speak of things you don’t know the first thing about,” Daud growled.

“You’re not giving me much choice,” Ames shot back. “Why are you here?”

By way of answer, Daud produced a copy of her pamphlet and held it up so she could see, rather enjoying the worried look now entering her face. “You and I have something to discuss.”

***

The next day, Daud didn’t make his way directly to Corvo’s study.

Joining Rinaldo at the edge of the garden, Daud watched from behind a stone column as Piero and Sokolov haggled about the positioning of the… what were probably the 'wings' of the wood and paper contraption they’d built.

"It’s supposed to fly?"

"Maybe," Rinaldo shrugged. At Daud’s critical glance, he amended, "It’s supposed to. Whether it will, that’s another matter."

"Smartass," Daud grumbled under his breath. Still, he stayed where he was, curiosity that he would never cop to if anyone asked getting the better of him. Students at the Academy of Natural Philosophy had always been getting up to stupid stunts like this — or worse, actually. If this were conducted in the true spirit of the Academy, Piero and Sokolov would be strapping themselves to a life-size version of that thing; or at the very least one of the younger students who hadn’t yet learnt to say no. Then again, not many had ever said ‘no’ to Sokolov throughout his career.

The argument grew in volume if not, apparently, in effectiveness and Daud resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, telling himself that the two mad scientists at Empress Emily’s court were not his headache — if anyone’s, they were Corvo’s, who seemed content to let them make fools of themselves as much as they could, as long as they delivered on the long-awaited Cure. And, well, soon Hypatia would hopefully bring a sense of direction to the work they were doing. Daud feared for the Empire should they fail.

Squabbling animatedly, Piero appeared to be making an executive decision, as he made one final adjustment to the wing flaps and then, with a grunt, used a giant lever (Daud briefly wondered which security door they’d broken that off of) to cut a set of ropes near the 'bird’s' tail. Propelled by force greater than its mass, it shot off the small ramp Sokolov had constructed (Daud only knew because Sokolov had yelled that he had about five times in the past three minutes) like a bolt from a crossbow and soared into the air, its nose nearly pointed straight at the sky.

It enjoyed the freedom of flight only briefly, however, stabilising and gliding for a few feet before taking a nosedive and crashing into the dewy grass of the impeccably kept lawn. Piero’s arms dropped to his sides from where he’d raised them in short-lived triumph, and Sokolov immediately started berating his colleague — probably for that final adjustment, or just as likely for setting the thing loose in the first place. The crashed bird stuck out of the ground where it had landed, broken into jagged, uneven pieces, a messy construction of wires, wood, paper, and a few screws. Screws that sat decidedly loose on its creators, Daud mused as he watched them prance after the thing to pick it up.

"They might be curing the Plague, but sometimes they act as though they’ve no three brain cells to rub together between them," Daud groused.

"I think there’s other parts they’re rubbing together when no-one’s looking, though," Rinaldo told him, his face and voice never changing from the pleasant tone he had adopted ever since becoming one of the 'officers' watching Emily and Corvo here at the Tower.

Slowly, Daud turned his head to stare at him.

"You said you wanted to know everything that goes on here," Rinaldo had the gall to defend himself.

Daud continued to glare.

"As you wish, sir," Rinaldo acquiesced.

With one last despairing glance at Sokolov and Joplin, Daud resolved to let Corvo take the lead when they questioned Sokolov about Delilah.

*

Daud refused to make a spectacle of his nerves as he made his way inside the Tower, infiltrating its walls as easily as breathing now, and proceeded to Corvo’s chambers without being seen. He had not forced himself into making a decision in the past day, knowing full well that even if he resolved that whatever was between them had to remain nameless, that resolve would first have to stand the test of, well. Corvo.

Making sure that no-one was around to see him approach, Daud called on Void Gaze to check whether Corvo was ready to receive him, or whether he had other visitors. Since access to the Empress herself was limited, Corvo fielded most requests for an audience in her stead, making appointments on their behalf if the it warranted Emily’s attention. Daud was surprised, then, when he found Corvo’s study empty. Taking this as an opportunity, he transversed down and slipped through the door. He could have also diverted to “his” room and waited there, but Corvo had given him permission early on to wait for him inside if he wasn’t to be found.

Besides, Daud had no choice but to keep hidden, anyhow, in case Corvo returned and wasn’t alone. Getting comfortable on a tall cabinet at the far end of the room, Daud settled in to wait.

He didn’t have to be patient for long, however, as barely minutes after he’d arrived, the door opened and Corvo strode inside, closing it behind him with too much force to be unintentional. Daud frowned as the words of greeting died in his throat. Corvo was agitated, that much was clear, and unless Daud had missed an important headline in the Courier this morning, this was a new development that spelt, in one word, trouble.

“Dammit,” Corvo cursed, carding a hand through his hair.

Daud thought it best to make his presence known now. “What’s wrong?”

He’d barely finished speaking before Corvo moved. Letting instinct take over, Daud transversed to the other side of the room in an instant – looking up at where he’d just been, there was a sleep dart embedded in the wooden panel.

“At least you were only going to sedate me,” he commented drily.

Corvo lowered his hand, still holding the crossbow, and sighed. “You startled me.”

“And it worries me that I could.” Daud stepped closer and crossed his arms. “What’s going on?”

Taking a deep breath, Corvo put the weapon back on his belt. “Things within the Abbey are moving more quickly than anticipated.”

“Martin’s in trouble?” Daud deduced.

“He may have held on for a while using Campbell’s old tricks, but Martin’s not cut from the same cloth. His rivals are all but ready to stab him in the eye and have the Ascending Circle call for another Feast of Painted Kettles.”

“They didn’t like how he handled Hume and Pike, I suppose.”

“Right. Add to that his silence during my testimony, and since… he’ll barely let the Warfare Overseers out on the streets, and after they enjoyed relatively free reign under Campbell…” Corvo trailed off, and Daud nodded. He got the picture. Corvo started pacing the length of the room, Daud stayed where he was, watching.

“So what’s going on?”

“He requested an urgent audience with Emily, which we granted. He told us he’s giving himself another month, at most; and if we wanted to avoid conflict with the Order, to look for someone who we can stomach as his replacement.”

Daud hummed. “We still have Campbell's journal. But even then, it'll be nigh impossible getting another chance to influence the Circle’s decision, even with leverage. If Martin were to recommend anyone, they’d be the first one _off_ the list.”

“That’s what I told him. We knew that Martin wouldn’t hold his position for long, especially after the attack, but I had hoped—at least a few more months.” Corvo stopped in front of Daud, looking less harried now but still visibly concerned. Much like Daud himself, Corvo wasn’t one to wring his hands over things he couldn’t change and instead began looking for solutions. Only, at this point Daud, too, had trouble seeing one.

“We can only hope that, after being rid of Campbell and our own machinations, perhaps they’ll choose someone who’s less power-hungry, more measured in their approach,” Corvo continued.

“You’re going to let this come down to luck?” Daud couldn’t help but ask.

Corvo shrugged. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but my gut says to let it play out.”

“Well, far be it from me to argue with your gut,” Daud returned acerbically, surprised but gratified when that won him a smile.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Corvo told him quietly, his dark eyes warm and far too expressive for it to mean anything less than what Daud knew it _could_. And oh, hell, he found himself smiling back. After another moment, he cleared his throat.

“You should send for Hypatia as soon as possible.”

“She’s trustworthy?” Corvo picked up the subject without missing a beat, then stepped away and walked towards his desk, opening a drawer and producing a few sheets of paper adorned with the Kaldwin crest and reaching for the inkwell.

“She has an exemplary record, and a far better head on those shoulders than our resident mad geniuses.” At Corvo’s questioning look, Daud tilted his head. “They’re in the gardens trying to make things _fly_.”

Corvo shrugged. “Point taken.”

“With her help and the things she’s been working on at the Academy, they have a far better chance at completing the serum in half the time they’d have needed otherwise.”

“It would also appease those members of the Council who’ve been calling for better oversight,” Corvo added, then signed what looked to be two copies of the same letter, setting them aside to let the ink dry. “Hypatia might not be the independent committee they’re dreaming of, but they’ll learn to live with the situation.”

“Now all she has to do is to agree.”

Corvo looked up at him in alarm. “Do you think she would refuse a royal appointment?”

“No, I think she might refuse getting stuck with Sokolov and Piero,” Daud deadpanned. “She’ll want to help,” he amended when Corvo didn’t seem amused, or convinced.

“Then these,” Corvo held up the letters, “go out first thing tomorrow. We’ll have Hypatia settled in by the end of the week.”

“Good.” Daud hesitated. “There’s something else.”

“What is it? And sit, for Void’s sake,” Corvo waved at one of the chairs before he sat down in his own.

Daud followed his request, trying (and failing) not to think of the last time he’d sat there and made a fool of himself.

“I met with Abigail Ames.”

Corvo leaned back, blinking. “When?”

“Yesterday.”

“What’s your opinion of her?”

“Rothwild was shipped out in one of his own crates a few days into the strike. Two days later, Ames went inside and opened the pressure vents,” Daud reported what she'd told him.

Corvo frowned. “Were there any workers inside?”

“Rothwild had taken away their time cards, they couldn’t get in. But some of Rothwild’s butchers were still working, they didn’t care about the strike.”

“And Ames?”

“No remorse. Said the butchers had it coming. I’m inclined to believe her on that score, at least.” Rothwild’s butchers had been infamous for their brutality as well as their very own ways of helping their boss in times of labour unrest – he’d run them like a prison gang.

“So she’d do it again?”

Daud weighed his options. “It wouldn’t do to underestimate her.”

Corvo shook his head. “Then I can’t put her on the Council.”

“She wrote the pamphlet. She wouldn’t admit it at first, she was careful to remain anonymous in submitting it to the group that published it, but she copped to it after a while of questioning.”

“She’s dangerous,” Corvo argued.

“She’s a voice you need. The Council needs to hear it, and Emily needs to hear it, from someone who comes from poverty and who doesn’t know palace life. I understand why you’re wary of her,” he conceded. “But she harboured no ill will against Jessamine, nor does she wish Emily any harm now. People were desperate, and with no-one to keep them in check, Dunwall’s industrialists only drove their workers harder. Ames seeks to end exploitation, not overthrow the government.”

“I should be arresting her, not giving her a job nobles in Parliament are stabbing each other in the back for. If her involvement in the strike and the explosion become public—”

“I don’t see you arresting me,” Daud interrupted him. “Ramsey’s backing counts for something, and it’d be his ass on the line, too, if word got out. Let him worry about keeping the secret.”

Corvo regarded him steadily. “Are you _vouching_ for her?”

“I’m considering her.”

With a sigh, Corvo nodded. “Then so will I. Do you have the means to make contact with her again?”

“I do.”

Before Corvo could say anything else, a knock sounded on the door. “Corvo, it’s me, Anton,” Sokolov announced himself through the door, and Daud wondered if he should be grateful to the old madman for sparing them the momentary upheaval of hiding Daud in the broom cupboard like an interloper.

“Come in,” Corvo called, likewise rolling his eyes, which drew a grin from Daud.

Sokolov entered, looking every inch the sullen boy who’d been called into the headmaster’s study. “You summoned me, Lord Protector,” he fulfilled Daud’s unfavourable expectations to the letter. “Daud.”

“Sokolov,” Daud deigned to acknowledge the inventor, ignoring Corvo’s pained look. He knew they didn’t get along and likely never would, so why he still bothered making that face, Daud didn’t take the time to ask.

“Please sit, Anton. Daud and I have a few questions.”

Somewhat stiffly, Sokolov lowered himself into the second visitor’s chair next to Daud’s, and in a moment of distraction Daud couldn’t help but think of what Rinaldo had so indelicately revealed to him earlier. A pained look of his own crossed his features, hidden from Sokolov but visible to Corvo, who glanced at him curiously. Daud shook his head minutely. It wasn’t important, certainly not now.

“If it’s about the Cure, then I assure you that Piero and I are doing our utmost—”

“It’s not about the Cure,” Daud interrupted. “In fact, it’s not about your scientific work at all.”

“Oh?” Sokolov put on a good show, Daud would give him that. Just not good enough.

“You don’t often take students, do you, Anton,” Corvo picked up the line of questioning. “In painting, I mean, not at the Academy.”

“There are few blessed with an artistic mind in this day and age.”

“Anyone particularly good at sculpture?” Daud decided to turn Sokolov’s feet to the fire a little.

“Would you mind telling me what on earth you two are on about? I have experiments to get back to.”

“Delilah was your apprentice. You must have recognised her the day of the attack, and yet you said nothing,” Corvo returned sharply.

In the face of their accusation, Sokolov dropped at least some of the façade and sighed. “I didn’t think you’d get around to me quite so soon.”

“Talk,” Daud prompted darkly, and Sokolov sent him a dirty look.

“She was as beautiful as her paintings,” Sokolov began. “Cunning. And wounded, deep at her centre.”

***

Once Sokolov was gone, Corvo got up from his chair, rounded the desk, and dropped into the seat Sokolov had just vacated, sprawling into it at an angle, his right leg knocking against Daud’s knee.

“I’m not sure what I expected,” Corvo muttered, staring at nothing.

“Nearly an hour of inappropriate escapades? That is generally what I expect of Sokolov,” Daud said. Delilah had indeed been Sokolov’s student – ‘student’ being the polite word for it.

“He did say that if she’s scheming, her art has to be the key.”

Daud couldn’t put his finger on why, but something about the way Sokolov had described her paintings as ‘capturing the spirit’ made him more than a little uneasy, but perhaps that was just the unsavoury manner in which he talked about her.

“Do you think he told us everything?” Corvo wondered aloud.

“If there’s more, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Fair enough.”

They remained like this for a long moment, each caught up in their own thoughts. Unerringly, as his knee was still pressed against Corvo’s thigh and neither of them thought to move, Daud’s strayed back to their argument (even if that was a poor description) from two nights ago.

“Corvo—” Daud began at the same time as Corvo said, “Can you stay for dinner?”

“What?” Daud asked eloquently.

“Can you stay for dinner, or do you have to get back?” Corvo elaborated. “Emily would like to see you, and her lessons are going to run on longer after the meeting with Martin.”

“Does Emily want to see me, or the Empress?” Daud asked in what was perhaps an ill-judged attempt at teasing.

“Would that make a difference?” Corvo’s tone was rough.

Daud frowned. “No, of course not.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I can stay.”

Silence fell again, but was given no dominion. Corvo nudged Daud's leg with his own. “What were you going to say?”

"It's not important," Daud shook his head.

"Isn't it?"

Shaking his head, Daud didn't say anything else. For a while, neither of them spoke.

*

Using a little subterfuge, Corvo had food enough for three brought up to his rooms that evening. Callista had delivered Emily after her lessons, announcing them from outside much like Sokolov had done. Again, Emily had bounded up to Daud upon entering, calling his name – evidently, the kid has as much common sense as her father when it came to being glad to see him, Daud thought sardonically as they sat by the fire now, Corvo and Emily on the settee and Daud in the chair.

Any sort of company would be horrified at the picture they made, the tray with dishes and glasses on the low table, their plates balanced on their knees. It was ironic, perhaps, that they’d possessed themselves of somewhat more suitable arrangements at the Hound Pits – at least they’d had tables. Neither Emily nor Corvo seemed to mind, however, and Daud had only ever cared _that_ his recruits ate properly, not where or how. How often had he found them on the rooftops in the Flooded District, plates picked clean between them, feeding the last scraps to the crows that dared come closest. In Dunwall, even the birds were starving.

At the Hound Pits, dinner had been crowded, and noisy – anyone who wasn’t on patrol turning out for feeding time, crammed into the taproom for about half an hour; Corvo and Emily sitting in between the Whalers as if they belonged there, at least after a time. It had become a routine of some sort, but it had never been private. This, to be sitting in the Royal Protector’s chambers with the Empress, having a quiet dinner? It hardly bore the comparison. It was quiet, but not uncomfortably so, each of them focused on their food rather than making polite conversation, which suited Daud just fine.

Once they’d finished eating, Emily happily proclaimed that she could not move an inch, and then promptly clambered up onto Corvo’s lap. Watching as Corvo chuckled and settled her on his knee, Daud once again felt like an intruder, privy to something that should never have been open to someone like him.

“Daud,” Emily’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “you're using the room key Corvo gave you sometimes, right?”

After the first second of discomfort, Daud nodded. “I am. Not often, but some nights I come here after patrol — if Corvo and I have reason to speak first thing in the morning. Why do you ask, is the room needed for someone else?” The thought of Jameson moving to the Tower permanently before his health could be assessed entirely didn't sit well with Daud. After what he'd been through, he may well be — through no fault of his own — be a danger to himself; which in Daud's eyes made him a potential danger to Emily first and foremost. He knew that wasn't fair. Life in Dunwall never was.

"No!" Emily assured him, seeming more alarmed than Daud thought the situation warranted. "It's just... I was hoping... I heard you and Corvo talking, after—after Billie left, and you said she was angry because this was supposed to be the Whalers' last job."

Daud felt his jaw tighten. "I did say that. And she was."

Emily bounced her leg against Corvo's once, twice, before visibly commanding herself to remain still — doubtlessly one of Callista's many lessons. "You said you couldn't stay here because your place was with your people."

"It is." Daud had a terrible notion where she was going with this, but bided his time all the same.

"But then what happens afterwards?" Emily asked. "Can't you stay with us then?"

There it was, the conversation he'd been dreading, and Daud had to fight not to bend his head just to avoid looking at her.

"Emily," Corvo intervened now, simultaneously throwing Daud a pleading look and shaking his head since she couldn't see.

Daud raised a placating hand. "It's alright, Corvo." He paused, searching for the right words, caught in Emily's entreating expression.  _Soft spot_ , his mind hissed at him. He knew it was his job to tell her, and he wouldn't have made Corvo break it to her in his stead if he could help it, but he'd had _no time_. "Emily, I can't—I can't stay in Dunwall after this. I'm going to see this through, and the Whalers with me, and then... I'm going to pack my bags."

“Why?” Emily's voice was already breaking, and Daud loathed himself at the same time as he wondered why this should affect her so much.

“After this, a lot of them are going to have to find something new. I brought them into this, I can’t leave them to their own devices.”

“But why can’t you _stay_?” She was close to crying now, and if Daud had thought that telling Corvo would be hardest, he'd grossly underestimated the Empress. She'd abandoned her imperial demeanour now — she was a child in her father's lap; a father whom she couldn't acknowledge publicly, sitting with a man whose involvement in her life and her reign was an even more poisonous secret, if just for the danger it put her in. Hers was a privileged upbringing, but burdened nonetheless, and Daud doubted this could be called childhood anymore. And so, her tantrums weren't about stuffed animals or pretend tea parties — mostly, they were about advisors six times her age who underestimated and patronised her. Only now, this one was about him. Leaving her.

“Dunwall isn’t safe for someone like me once they stop doing what they used to. I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I’m not sure who I’ll be once I stop,” he explained, succinctly as he could.

“Because people won’t be scared of you anymore?”

“You could say that.” How she could say it while betraying absolutely no fear of him herself was beyond him.

“But Corvo can protect you! Right, Corvo?” She looked up at her father hopefully, who smiled at her gently, but didn’t speak.

“I have no doubt that he could, but it’s not about protection,” Daud called her attention back to him. "At least not mine."

Emily expression turned to a scowl. "Don't go telling me that I'll be safer without you around, because I don't believe that," she told him forcefully, her voice tight with tears.

"If anyone finds out what I've done for your family, there'll be Void to pay," Daud argued before he could stop himself. "They'll try and hurt you, not just because you're Empress but because of _me_. I can't allow that." He wouldn't. He'd put himself at the witches' mercy before it came to that.

Emily’s face fell. “But it’s not—it’s not because… we didn’t do anything, did we?” Corvo carefully drew her closer, comforting her.

“No, Emily,” Daud assured her, surprised at how much he needed her to believe him. “None of this is your fault, or Corvo’s.”

“Okay,” she nodded and wiped at her eyes, trusting his word so easily it pained him.

For a long moment, no-one said anything. Daud felt Corvo's dark eyes on him, but didn't dare return his gaze, fearful of what he might find.

Hesitantly, talk turned to simpler matters after a while – Emily’s schooling, her dislike of history lessons in particular, and a few recent stories from the pub, namely all the Whalers’ progress at Spot Galia. Daud would have to admit to losing track of time, as eventually Emily couldn’t hide her yawns anymore and Corvo gently but insistently told her it was time to head to bed. She protested but conceded defeat under one of her father’s stern gazes.

Rubbing her eyes sleepily, she slipped from Corvo’s lap, then surprised Daud by padding across to him and standing on tiptoes to reach her arms around his neck and pulling herself up into a hug.

“I’ll miss you,” she mumbled. Daud awkwardly raised an arm against her back, holding her to him briefly before letting go.

“You’re not rid of me yet,” he murmured back, which seemed to cheer her.

“Good night, Daud.”

“Good night.”

“I’ll be right back,” Corvo told him, then offered Emily his hand to escort her to her room. Daud watched them go, the tiny Empress and her tall, imposing Protector.

*

When Corvo returned, Daud was standing by the window, looking over at the skyline rising out of the Wrenhaven.

“I didn’t tell her,” Corvo said as he stepped up beside him. “I thought you should be the one to—”

“It’s alright, Corvo,” Daud interrupted him, but of course, Corvo persisted. As he always would. 

"I didn't know she wanted to talk to you about this, or I would've discouraged her from putting you on the spot like that."

Daud could only shrug. "I suppose we should be glad we have no-one else to thank for her... observance."

"What do you mean?" Corvo asked, confusion plain.

"Do I have to spell it out?"

Understanding dawn in Corvo's eyes, but he shook his head. “If she’d had another dream of Him, or if she’d seen Him, she’d have told us.”

“Oh I’m sure He’s keeping His distance. But premonitions, vague notions… how do you think the Abbey chooses which children to abduct?” Daud just about resisted gnashing his teeth, but it was a near thing.

“How did He find you?” Corvo surprised him by asking after his own past; although perhaps he should be surprised that Corvo had refrained from such questions up until now.

“That’s a long story,” he attempted dodging the question even as Corvo had to know that, whatever he asked of his past, Daud would hand it over.

“Short version?” Corvo prompted brightly instead, and Daud barked a laugh.

“I’m not sure there is one. Except perhaps this: He found me, and decades on I wish He hadn’t.” He was almost satisfied with the retort.

“What happened? There’s a lot of… bitterness between you,” Corvo prompted more soberly now, and his dark eyes were on Daud's, so eager to understand that Daud had half a mind to tell him not to bother. What was there in understanding someone like him, besides more senseless bitterness decades on?

Daud didn't put voice to any of those thoughts. "He wanted me to be able to change things, I expect," he said instead.

"To make Dunwall… better?" Corvo frowned.

"No, the Outsider doesn’t think that way. He plucks people up, and then he gives them powers to make them more than what they were, more than others are. He likes to twist and turn the levers of societies, to see how just one change catastrophic enough will affect the whole. An aristocrat here and a politician here, that doesn’t make a difference. But a culling, now that is… interesting. Which way the scales tip in the end doesn’t matter much to Him."

"And you?" Corvo was intrigued now, Daud could see it, his mind doubtlessly working to connect the dots with whatever he had discerned about the impenetrable deity himself.

"Failed." Daud could say this with confidence.

"But why? You affected change."

"Did I?" Daud levelled a glance at Corvo, assessing him. "Cut one noble down, another takes their place. A whaling ship could float in the noble blood I’ve spilt, and what do I have to show for it? That’s the thing about Dunwall: nothing changes. And have I achieved more than others in my time — or much less?"

"If He wanted you to change things… what did you want?" Corvo went right for the heart of the matter, to coin a phrase. Again, as he always would.

"The same, for a time," Daud admitted, the words coming slowly, but unstoppable now. "I hated the aristocracy, whether it was in Karnaca, or here; those who would lord themselves over others. But after I arrived in Dunwall, I managed to scrape together enough to attend the Academy of Natural Philosophy."

Corvo’s eyebrows rose in recognition. "So the rumours were true."

Daud snorted softly. "How did you think Sokolov got me to hold still long enough to paint my portrait years later? He knew me. But it was only a term, and that bit of time was enough to show me how little I belonged there. So I left, went travelling, all over the Isles. Sought out His shrines and His wisdom, or at least I thought it was."

"And when you came back, you founded the Whalers."

Daud shook his head. "I didn't set out to. I worked alone for the first two years, but you do what I did long enough, you not only attract attention, you’re starting to look like a way out to people with only one bullet left and no idea what to do with it. Recruitment started slow, but eventually, we had a school."

"What about Him?"

"Oh, He loved it. He revealed the Arcane Bond to me, a means of sharing what I could do with those that followed me. He thought that, with growing numbers, we’d be able to do more. And we did. More jobs, more coin."

Corvo tilted his head. "You told me you couldn't control the Bond, how strong it was and for whom it took."

"I never could." What was Corvo getting at? If he thought Daud might have new answers concerning their own... awareness of each other's magic, then he didn't. Hadn't had time to think about it, either.

"You said that those for whom it didn't take you pushed towards the other weapons you use."

"What are you getting at, Corvo?" Daud questioned, growing impatient.

"It's just... I noticed Hobson and Dodge never actually transversing. They're both novices, but you kept them on."

"Everyone can be useful in some way," Daud tried to deflect the question, but he knew that expression in Corvo's eyes. Knew it well enough to know he didn't deserve it.

Surprisingly, Corvo let it go. "So the Whalers grew, but nothing changed," he picked up the other thread.

"No."

"Why?"

Daud should tell Corvo to cease his questions, to let it go, to let the past stay buried beyond desiccated shrines. Instead, he answered, "because even after I accepted the Mark, I wouldn’t choose."

"Choose what?" Corvo did not relent.

Neither did Daud. "A side. I took whatever contract brought us money, and I had no trouble killing for one of them one year, and then being paid to kill them in return the next. And I kept bending at the shrines, listening to the Outsider whispering that I was going to change things, that I was somehow… important. It felt good, made me believe I was powerful." Secrets were spilling from him now like blood from a Weeper.

"When you first told me, that distinction meant something to you. You were supposed to be important, but not… powerful."

Daud shuddered to remember that night he had first bared his past to Corvo. Had he known what would follow his confession, would he have still done it, would he still have let Corvo sit beside him, _comfort_ him?

"Yes. I felt powerful, and I felt good, and the Outsider saw that and kept egging me on. He thought he’d get me to do what he wanted by stroking my ego, only, well. That ego didn’t need much more stroking. What I had attained was independence in the absolute and worse, I carried none of the responsibility. Money exchanged hands, and someone died. Didn’t matter who. No-one was safe as long as their rivals had the money and the gumption to solicit my services. And I thought that was the definition of power."

"But He didn't."

"What He wanted me to do would have meant for me to… abandon indifference. I was detached from everything, but to make a difference, you need a path. A code. We had a code alright, but if you think you know honour among thieves, you’d be little prepared for honour among assassins. The Whalers stick together, and you cross one of them, your days are numbered. But you cross one of your own, and you better run."

"Anyone ever run from you?" Corvo seemed almost... amused at the thought. As if he knew the futility of it, of running from a man with blood on his hands — hands that had served to protect his family, too. As if he trusted those hands not to do the same to him.

"A few. Some cut and run because they’re scared, some don’t see the value of loyalty, and certainly not to one man with strange marks on his hand. Others thought they knew better how to lead."

"Someone challenged you for leadership?"

"Now, your surprise is flattering, but misplaced."

Corvo raised his hands in surrender. "What happened then?"

"The Outsider realised that I wouldn’t budge, that I wouldn’t become... interesting. My ego was too strong, and so, after years of feeding it in the hopes that it would make me shape the world to my own liking – it was the reason He couldn’t stand the sight of me anymore. And that was the beginning of the end of it."

"How so?"

"At first, we fought. He would question my actions, stick His nose where it didn’t belong, or so I felt. And so I told Him. After months of bickering, He left. I would still visit His shrines, but they were cold. He wouldn’t answer my calls any more than He would Granny Rags’. And I got angry. I sought out His shrines so often after that, spent hours talking at him, ranting; I nearly got caught a few times. It took me months to realise that He wasn’t coming back, and even longer to understand why. But by the time I did, it was too late. The culling had begun, and once it’d started… there was no stopping it. And we kept going. It was too late for me to change."

"But you did. You’re not the man you were when you were younger," Corvo insisted.

Daud barked a mirthless laugh. Corvo would have despised the man he'd been. "Disillusionment will do that to you. It became a job then, not a calling, but it was still the only thing I knew how to do. I was still good at it. Money’s as good as reason as any," he recalled his words to Billie, adding to the dull ache of memories with something sharper, a blade still tacky with blood.

"So He egged you on, and then He punished you for it." Corvo made it sound so simple — and it was. Up to a point. Daud didn't know what to make of the fact that Corvo seemed to be accusing the Outsider of betrayal.

"It wasn’t cruelty that did it, you must see that. He simply picked the wrong dog for the fight. It’s why He loves you so much."

"Me?" Corvo asked incredulously.

"You had a path, Corvo. You had a code, and more than that, you had a purpose. Emily and Jessamine meant everything to you. You were always on their side. You had a vision for the world where I only saw dead bodies." And he'd betrayed that code, hadn't he, had risked everything to do as Daud asked and keep him out of history. He'd done it to protect Emily, of course, and her safety had been one of the reasons why Daud had asked, had insisted; but Corvo had done it _because_  of Daud. He dared not think he'd done it _for_ him. "I’m only sorry I delivered you to Him on a silver platter."

Corvo was silent for a long moment. “I’m not.”

“Corvo—”

“I’m not,” Corvo repeated emphatically, setting a hand on Daud’s arm, curling his fingers into the fabric of his coat, and tugged. As if caught in a Tether, Daud swayed closer.

“Corvo,” he rasped again, a fire set to simmer inside him as though it had just been waiting for a spark.

“None of this is easy,” Corvo’s voice was hoarse now. “But it would be unbearable without you.”

Something in Daud broke in two. He surged up, grabbing the lapel of Corvo’s vest, hauling him closer in turn, and kissed him – enough pretending. The angle was far from ideal, but he paid it no mind as Corvo pressed against him, dragging his lips over Daud’s as he exhaled hotly and then pushed right back. Daud growled low in his throat, wrestling for control, seemingly, against himself.

Next when they parted for air, Daud wrenched himself away and instead applied his lips to the shadowed line of Corvo’s jaw, mouthing along the hollow of his throat, feeling his breath hitch as he swallowed. Before he could talk himself out of it, he raised a hand to the back of Corvo’s neck, holding him in place just so; his gloved fingers tightening their grip when Corvo arched into the touch. For the first time in a very long while Daud cursed his habit of wearing gloves to conceal his Mark, tangling in Corvo’s hair.

Corvo’s breath was harsher now, but he kept quiet, tilting his head to let Daud do as he pleased, and Daud was uncertain of the challenge, if indeed that’s what it was, but when he reached the skin just between Corvo’s jaw and his ear, a choked-off grunt escaped him that twisted Daud’s lips in a wolfish grin. His satisfaction was short-lived, however, as Corvo used the hand still clinging to his arm to lightly push against him.

Daud let go of him immediately, apology half-formed on his tongue when he recognised the heat in Corvo’s gaze.

“My turn,” Corvo announced darkly, tone starkly at odds with the way his fingers gently cradled Daud’s jaw. He had no notion what to expect when Corvo turned his face to the side, exposing the scarred cheek that he refused to have any qualms about but was less convinced the same went for others. His throat seized, then, when Corvo kissed his cheekbone, nosed against his brow. “One day, you’ll tell me,” Corvo whispered, the words ghosting over Daud’s burning skin and offering no relief.

“Sure of yourself, are you,” Daud managed, his voice dragged low, turning to look at him slowly.

“Call it a hunch,” Corvo told him, _Void, the mouth on him_ , and Daud was done for then, he knew it; he didn’t even begin to fight the shudder that went through him and that Corvo couldn’t possibly have missed. “Daud,” he said, thumb brushing Daud’s jaw slowly.

Daud waited for the question or whatever else, but nothing came. Corvo simply watched him, content in this moment, and so was Daud. _Listen to yourself,_ he barely scraped together the ire under Corvo’s gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Corvo: Can you stay for dinner? // me: CAN YOU STAY FOREVER?  
> b) Daud, honey. Sweetums. So hopelessly in love with Corvo and, each time, so determined not to give in. And then that just... goes out the window. Bless.  
> c) The Piero/Sokolov thing came to me in a café and I think I was scaring people as I tried not to cackle too loudly whilst typing away...


	7. Who in your merry, merry Month of Rain (Corvo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo and Daud are thieves in the night. Thomas draws the short straw. Emily misses Knife Dad, but Rat Dad delivers a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW. I KNOW. THEY'RE MAKING OUT. I KNOW.
> 
> But reality's ready to intrude, as next up is a visit to Coldridge. Time to get themselves a captain — and a riverboat (next time).  
> Posting a little early because AO3's got scheduled downtime tonight and tomorrow's gonna be a workday from hell, so...
> 
> In honour of Lizzy Stride, this week's editing tune has a bit more pizzazz: [She's Long Gone by The Black Keys](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nC-BAxy3PoI&index=23&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&t=0s).

Corvo could scarcely believe it, as he found himself in an odd mirror of their situation barely a week before; as he felt Daud’s skin, warm and firm against his and knew that his touch was welcome. _Wanted_.

When Daud had arrived earlier that day, Corvo hadn’t known what to anticipate at all, on top of being so distracted by the meeting with the erstwhile High Overseer. Daud hadn’t seemed too tense, or skittish, but Corvo didn’t like to overestimate his ability to read him – no less evidenced by how he’d managed to take Daud’s teasing question whether it was Emily or the Empress who wanted to see him the wrong way. And that could have been the end of it: they could have written off the tension between them as born of close quarters, of circumstances forcing them together, and for a while, they both _had_ – while they didn’t understand that the other, too, wanted it back. Corvo could have laughed when he realised that Daud had laboured under the same misunderstanding he had, if he hadn’t been so saddened by it.

Understanding of his own feelings had come slowly, at first, and then rushed in all at once as Daud’s reactions as well as his began forming an interlocking pattern, and Corvo realised the push and pull between them. Where one went, the other would follow without question, even when they were at odds with each other. And then Jessamine... he supposed she hadn't told him anything he hadn't already known; and still it frightened him. Daud... wanted him, Corvo supposed, he'd admitted as much that night if not in as many words, but _this_?

And now, he was standing here, back at Dunwall Tower; back thanks to the man whose face he was cradling in his hand as though he had any notion of what he was doing, or where this was headed. Daud’s grey eyes were warm and so familiar, and Corvo wondered not for the first time what might have happened if they’d met when they were younger, or perhaps even just years ago. If only Jess could see them now.

“Corvo,” Daud murmured into the space between them, and Corvo’s lips ticked up in a smile at how they seemed to have been reduced to each other’s names in lieu of what they were actually thinking. There was colour still high on Daud’s cheeks, which was at once amusing and satisfying in a way Corvo could not have anticipated. Doing the only thing he could think to do, he leaned in again.

Daud met him halfway, as reluctant to leave as Corvo was to let him go judging by the way he crowded against him even as his kiss remained gentle, almost careful, strength tucked away, belying the fact that once already this had been born from a fight. Of those, they’d had plenty over the months, getting after the other with the sharp edges, and even then trusting each other’s abilities enough not to hold back, even in their anger. Corvo had ended up many times brought up short against Daud’s barrel chest, had the strength of his back used against him, but that had been long before he’d known how Daud’s lips felt against his own, and now he wondered how often those fights could have tipped over into something like this, if only they had.

Eventually, they pulled apart, Daud releasing Corvo’s lapel and laying his palm against his chest instead, and Corvo wished that those gloves would come off sometimes when they were alone, as his own fingertips tingled as they drew away from Daud’s cheek.

“I need to get back,” Daud murmured, and Corvo knew he did, he knew, but he could not hide the way his jaw tightened, nor did he try.

“Alright,” he said quietly. Daud tilted his head.

“Rulfio is getting back from Drapers Ward at ten,” he said, his voice a low rumble, not a defence, perhaps an indulgence, and not quite a warning.

Corvo smiled despite himself. “I know. You’re a busy man,” he teased, going out on a limb, and to his relief Daud didn’t bite back the grin.

“Says the Royal Protector _and_ Spymaster.” Daud gave back as he got, and Corvo’s insides twisted at how his tone seemed _right_ again.

Before they could delay any further, Corvo gave Daud a gentle nudge. “Go, check up on them, talk to Rulfio.”

“I’ll have news for you by tomorrow night,” Daud nodded, and Corvo’s gut twisted again, but this time for different reasons. Coldridge. “Good night, Corvo.”

Before Corvo could reply, Daud had vanished. Again, Corvo smiled, even if no-one could see. “Good night.”

***

In the morning, as decided, Corvo sent off a courier with letters of summons – one to Alexandria Hypatia herself, another to the board of the Academy of Natural Philosophy. He drew another letter from his desk, addressed to one Abigail Ames. He was not sure of her yet, but he would never be unless he met her. He amended a few details at the bottom of the message, then signed it and resolved to ask Daud to have it delivered at the next opportunity.

They were due to infiltrate Coldridge and bring Lizzy Stride back to Drapers Ward within the week. They had considered splitting up, with Corvo staging an official inspection and drawing all eyes to him while Daud broke her out; but eventually discarded the idea as inspection days usually meant that officers were pulled in from other stations to compensate when the Watch was short-staffed (which it almost always was), meaning that Corvo would not have been able to concentrate all personnel on himself. Besides which, cell allotments changed constantly, with prisoners transferred in and out of cell blocks, so even if Corvo were to obtain the log book in advance, it would be impossible to be sure that Stride would still be where it’d say she was the next day, or even hours later. As such, Corvo would have had to draw as many guards as he could outside, which would leave him with either the execution yard or the inner yard past the first block, and neither were viable options.

As it was, it would be easier to make their way in, together, via the canal. Burrows had it drained after the assassination attempt, citing the threat to Dunwall Tower, and Emily and Corvo had held off on reversing at least that particular order.

As promised, Daud got word to him that night, via Kieron, that the situation in Drapers Ward was tense, but manageable, and that Coldridge prison hadn’t seen any major riots in more than a week – unofficially as well as officially. Apparently, the guards had finally realised that keeping the Hatters and the Eels in separate cell blocks was not being overly cautious. Things being what they were, Corvo and the Whalers were as well prepared as they could be.

So they decided to go get themselves a captain, two days hence. Daud would remain at the pub until then, coordinating patrols and raids; Corvo was to do the same at the Tower.

*

It was on the morning of their planned mission that Corvo received a letter from Teague Martin.

> _Lord Protector —_
> 
> _My aides (at least those I can still trust) have deemed it too precarious for me to request an audience again so soon after the last one, so I will send this letter instead._
> 
> _Troubling news have reached the Office of the High Overseer from Coldridge prison: a riot has broken out among the inmates overnight, and the Watch has sent for an Overseer to inspect an 'incident' that took place in their interrogation room. It is unclear at this stage what caused the riot, only that the incident appears to involve a witch who had been taken into custody._
> 
> _I have delayed sending an Overseer down for an inspection and cleansing ritual on the grounds that I want the rioters contained before risking the safety of any of my men, but the Watch's patience is wearing thin. The Watch has been put into possession of the apparatuses needed to play the ancient music over their speakers; they will do so at the first opportunity._
> 
> _I do not presume to know your plans, Royal Protector, but your interest in Coldridge the last time you and I spoke with the Empress has not escaped me. If you and Daud are planning on entering the prison, to whatever end, might I suggest holding off until this matter has been resolved?_
> 
> _There is something else I meant to tell you: some of the patrols who are yet loyal have reported mentions of a name — Breanna Ashworth. She's of a wealthy family, as far as I can tell, born into privilege that she's apparently discarded in favour of... a different life. From what my men have gathered, she has developed an interest in the occult, and has been seen cavorting with suspected heretics — witches among them. Her name is but a whisper carried on the wind, but so was Delilah's before she schemed her way into your backyard. Be wary of her, Corvo, should you encounter her._
> 
> _May the Strictures guide you,_
> 
> _Teague Martin_
> 
> _Office of the High Overseer_
> 
> _P.S. Tell Daud, the next time his Whalers mess with the dogs on patrol, I won't stop Hound Master Warton from putting them down._

Breanna Ashworth — Corvo remembered that name. Billie had mentioned her, when confessing her involvement with Delilah to Daud; but Corvo had not been present for that interrogation and Daud's recollections had been specific, yet second-hand testimony could be a little... fuzzy. Corvo would have to speak to Daud about this 'whisper on the wind,' and whether the Whalers had heard it, too. He went over towards the window and tapped the frame three times, then waited. A minute later, Misha appeared.

"Sir," she bowed.

"Get word to Daud, Misha, that Coldridge may have been compromised. I have received news of an incident involving a witch and riots from High Overseer Martin. I need to know if he's still willing to pull the job tonight." The Whalers had eyes on Coldridge, Corvo knew, so it was unlikely Daud did not yet know of the previous night's events. Still, he needed to know that the Abbey was involved, and that Corvo had received the news from Martin himself.

"I'll return within the hour, sir," the Whaler promised, then vanished. Corvo returned to his desk — to wait, to think, and to write a letter in return asking for another day.

* * *

Emily and Callista were in his quarters before he was due to leave – at least for him, it was only a stone’s throw away. Rather than come to his quarters first, Daud would be waiting for him at the entrance to the sewers below the Tower District.

Emily had helped him secure his crossbow and the pouch of bone charms he kept on his belt under Callista’s watchful eye, and Corvo was about to reach for his mask when he saw her perturbed expression. “Emily,” he kneeled down in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

Her face twisted the way it did when she didn’t want to be caught acting ‘like a child.’ “Daud’s not here,” she said, and Corvo thought he understood the root of the problem. It warmed and strangled his heart in equal measure to see how much she had come to care for the man who had, almost in spite of himself, captured Corvo’s affections as well. He remembered how he had once vowed that she would not lose someone else she cared about. But Daud would not be lost, he told himself then.

“Do you want me to give him a message?” he asked, taking her small hand in his. Callista stood behind her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, silently lending her strength.

Emily nodded. “Be careful.”

*

Corvo took the long way round to where Daud would be waiting. With the dry weather of the past week, the once muddy riverbed had all but dried out, sand shifting underneath Corvo’s boots. Coming closer to the sewer entrance, he called upon Dark Vision to make out two silhouettes in the dark, one unmistakably a Whaler, the other unmistakably Daud. Thomas, going by the slighter build and height.

Knowing his footsteps would herald his approach and Daud’s uncanny awareness of Corvo’s magic would leave no room for nasty surprises, he crept closer. True enough, he was about five feet away when Daud emerged from the darkness, Thomas following a pace behind.

“Corvo,” Daud called quietly, his voice a familiar beacon. Coming up in front of them, Corvo didn’t know whether he should welcome the well-travelled sensation of wanting to do one thing and yet being forced to adhere to protocol. The floodlights above the prison entrance, illuminating the drawbridge and a few stretches of the canal, cast long shadows, but Corvo didn’t have to see Daud’s face to know what he was thinking when, under the cover of those same shadows, a gloved hand brushed his.

“Everything clear at the Tower?” Thomas asked, giving no indication that he’d seen (or, if he had, that he had any sort of opinion on it).

“Everything’s fine. Emily has a message for you,” Corvo addressed Daud in particular.

“Oh?” It was closer to a grunt than an articulation.

“She says to be careful.”

For a moment, Daud didn’t move at all. Then he nodded, once.

“Are we all going in?” Corvo asked with a tilt of the head towards Thomas. Originally, the plan had been for him and Daud to go alone, but after the report they – or, rather, Corvo – had received from Teague Martin, Corvo wouldn’t mind reinforcements. Thomas could be trusted in difficult situations, and Corvo hadn’t been surprised to see him promoted to his new position as Daud’s second. They had no idea what they might be dealing with inside – trust them to pick the day of an emergency lock-down to break into the most secure prison in Gristol, and not to turn back when they were warned. So much for a lack of riots. At least Martin had managed to delay sending an Overseer until the next day, using what leverage he had left – at Corvo’s behest, who knew very well he was shaving days off Martin’s longevity as High Overseer in doing so.

“Thomas is going to keep an eye out here,” Daud explained. “I don’t want any more surprises.”

Corvo looked up at the cliff-face leading up to Coldridge proper. The low drone of Overseer music hadn’t escaped him. “Martin couldn’t forbid them this.”

“Is it going to be inside as well?” Thomas asked.

“No, just out here. Theory is, if no-one can get in, they don’t need the noise further than the front door,” Corvo answered, shaking his head.

“They’ll come to regret that bit of wisdom,” Daud grumbled, and Corvo was grateful for the mask hiding his smile. Daud’s disdain for both Overseers and the City Watch had not abated one iota – had, if possible, even increased now that three of his men were impersonating at least one of those two. Corvo wondered how Daud would have approached this on his own. Would he have called in a favour to procure an Overseers' uniform, mask, and blade; gone in undercover? The thought of Overseer Daud was almost too amusing, but Corvo squashed the distraction.

“We should get going,” Corvo said then. “We have two hours until shift change.”

“You know what to do,” Daud said to Thomas, then faced Corvo. “Ready when you are.”

*

Corvo grunted as he heaved himself up onto the rock. Of course the music coming from the speakers reached far enough to make the ascent as difficult as it could possibly be. Behind him, Daud cursed under his breath, inspiring Corvo to find at least some humour in the situation. Daud hated climbing. Almost as much as he hated the Abbey.

Coming up over the outer wall, they found themselves directly within the execution yard.

“Charming,” Daud drawled as he pulled himself up next to Corvo. Corvo, for his part, said nothing. In his peripheral vision, he was aware of Daud watching him from the side. “Burrows?” he asked simply.

Corvo nodded. He’d deserved it, but Corvo had drawn no satisfaction from his execution. The shot had rung in his ears for hours afterwards.

“Come on,” Daud tapped his elbow. “No time to lose.”

Thankfully, the yard was empty and the door leading towards the prison’s entrance closed, so they could keep their heads and make their way across with a minimum amount of fuss. Climbing up onto the pipes by the door, they got inside. Guards were usually around in pairs, guarding the main door as well as the first inner security door, to be opened, from either side, only with a lever. Since the objective was to abscond with Lizzy Stride _and_ to buy them enough time until her absence could be noted, they let at least these guards be guards and found that the pipes high underneath the ceiling were just what they needed. As soon as they were inside, Corvo all but sighed in relief when his bones began singing with the touch of the Void again. No longer cut off from his abilities, he Blinked across to the next set of pipes.

Daud followed close behind, perching next to him. Without missing a beat, they fell back into relying on hand gestures rather than words to communicate as they listened to the guards moan and complain – and gossip, about what had happened in the interrogation room. Corvo scowled when he realised that he had not been alerted of the City Watch taking an alleged witch into custody, who had been caught trying to infiltrate the Estate District, of all places. After months of being left to their own devices and a large faction controlled by Burrows, the Dunwall Watch had not yet adjusted to being on a leash again. Corvo would have to get to the bottom of who had managed to keep this under wraps, and either _persuade_ them to assist him in the future – or get rid of them.

Having studied the plans of the prison extensively beforehand and, of course, having been here himself many times with Jessamine, accompanying her on inspections that regularly upset the Watch captain in charge, Corvo knew his way around; and yet was not surprised when Daud demonstrated his ability to memorise entire floor plans within minutes and  _led_ him to the yard. Across the catwalk from cell block B, the cell door control booth lay beyond a few twisting hallways, currently heavily patrolled by guards. Below them, they could see the door to the interrogation room.

When both guards patrolling the hallway and the stairs were right underneath them, Daud nudged Corvo with his elbow. Corvo nodded, leaning forward. When either guard paused to turn, they dropped out of the rafters, landing on top of the guards and knocking them out by jamming their heads against the stone floor. It would hurt like hell when they came to, but at least they were alive. They were carrying them towards the control booth when Corvo spotted a missing ceiling panel. Catching Daud’s eye, he pointed up. Daud nodded and then transversed up; Corvo heard a bit of scuffing as he deposited the guard overhead. Then, Daud appeared in the opening, reaching down and wriggling his fingers. Corvo refrained from rolling his eyes and simply lifted the second guard over his head, high enough that Daud could grab him by the coat and drag him up, not even letting out a grunt as he braced himself against the man’s weight. _Show-off_ , Corvo thought, stubbornly finding the fact that it brought a smile to his face entirely inconsequential.

Advancing to the control booth, he suppressed a groan when he realised that the log book wasn’t where it should have been. Of course it wasn’t. Corvo gritted his teeth and waited impatiently until Daud was next to him, looking at him expectantly, to shrug. Daud cast about in search of a clue, then picked up a note that was half hidden underneath a clipboard. 

> _All log book entries must contain the prisoner name and the destination cell number. The log book is in the guard booth between sections C and D. Do not neglect to log every prisoner transfer. Failure to do so is a punishable offense._

Holding the note up so Corvo could read it, Daud drew breath as if to speak, but then seemed to think better of it. Corvo raised his shoulders in a silent query, but Daud shook his head.

“Later,” he whispered, his only concession to his apparent distraction. Then, he jerked his head in the general direction of section C.

Making the unnecessary way back towards the guard booth, Corvo wondered what Daud might have found that would have been important enough to mention. Or perhaps he’d just found something amusing whilst rifling through the Watch guards’ pockets, Corvo told himself.

One after the other, they snuck closer to the guard booth, Daud using Void Gaze and Corvo spying through the keyhole to ascertain the guards’ positions before Corvo pushed open the door carefully. Coming up behind each of them, they choked them out in seconds, then left them on the ground. Corvo threw Daud the pouch he’d removed from the officer’s belt – he felt uncomfortable taking money in the name of the Crown that he now officially served once again; but Daud and the Whalers needed what reserves they could get. Besides, considering that either of these guards may have been responsible for keeping the appearance of a witch a secret from the Empress and, thus, her Protector and father, he felt this was kinder than a great many things he could have done – end their careers entirely, for starters. Daud, for his part, pocketed copper wire from the lockers and a set of keys that looked to open one of the munitions caches. Another favour, most likely. Daud was nothing if not well prepared.

Looking around, Corvo found the log book.

> _Winston Fogarty removed._
> 
> _Elizabeth Stride moved to A21._
> 
> _Lucas Penroe moved to D11._
> 
> _Jane Cochrane temporarily removed._

Corvo frowned, as A21 meant that there would be that many more guards in their way. Well, there was nothing for it.

Their detour kept miraculously short, they made their way back to the control booth, Corvo shoving down the thought of feeling like an errand boy. Picking up the sheet of instructions, Daud set the combination. 

> _Cell Control System Quick Reference_
> 
>   1. _Set first tumbler to match cell section letter_
>   2. _Set second and third tumblers to cell number_
>   3. _Pull lever to confirm selection_
> 

> 
> _Ensure that each cell opening request and selection are verbally confirmed. Investigate and report any suspected malfunctions immediately._

That last part was what worried Corvo most. If someone did indeed come to investigate, they would have to open at least one other door to create a distraction, and Corvo wasn’t about to give a Hatter a shot at freedom.

The high-pitched whirring and then the screech of a bell disrupted the quiet, and Corvo and Daud waited with baited breath. When nothing happened after a full minute, Corvo allowed himself to relax. _Overhaul_ , he thought to himself, not for the first, and definitely not for the last time.

Brushing past Daud, he started the trek up to cell A21.

On the way there, they put three more guards to sleep, Daud raided the munitions cache and grumbled about there being more grenades than one man could carry and only a handful of confiscated sleep darts, and Corvo found a note urging officers to, verbatim, “Keep the Hatters away from the Eels.”

> _The one in section D, cell 11, tried to attack that former Dead Eel leader again. We can't afford any additional investigations or mistakes right now. So keep them apart._

Corvo bared his teeth at the incompetence and the dubious astuteness of cautioning against bringing on any investigations.

Finally arriving at Stride’s cell, they found her bound in the stocks, unconscious or at least asleep, knees bleeding on the rough stone floor and her wrists already scabbing over, wounds no doubt caused by struggling against her bonds. She was in rough shape.

“Stride,” Daud attempted to wake her quietly, his voice low and rough, prodding her shoulder when she didn’t react. “Lizzy, wake up.”

Stride snorted awake, blinking against the light spilling in through the bars of the cell, baring her teeth in a snarl when she realised she wasn’t alone. Corvo nearly reared back when he saw that her teeth were sharpened points, confirming the rumours he had heard about her from some of the Whalers.

“I’m not telling you assholes any—huh? Daud? Have the Hatters finally sent you after me?” Her tone was incredulous, as if she’d expected a great many things to befall her in this hole, but not the Knife of Dunwall.

“We’re not here for you,” Daud tilted his head to include Corvo. Her eyes widened.

“I’ve heard about you,” she said, looking back and forth between them. “So you are working together? But if you’re not going to kill me, why the visit?”

“Let me rephrase, we _are_ here for you. To break you out,” Daud told her.

If Lizzy Stride were the kind of woman to laugh at anything a man said to her, her facial expression seemed to say, she’d be losing it right about now. “What do you want?” she demanded instead.

“Does it matter? You’ll be dead in another day here. You can owe us the favour.”

Stride’s look turned thunderous. “What kind.”

“It’s just a boat trip, upriver. Past the blockades.”

“Then you’re shit out of luck, old Knife. My boat, the Undine, belongs to someone else now. My bastard second-in-command double-crossed me and took it for himself. His name’s—”

“Edgar Wakefield. We know. It’s a situation I’m familiar with,” Daud told her so casually that Corvo felt guilt twist inside himself.

“I can pay you to get rid of Wakefield,” Stride said, flexing her shoulders as if attempting to _strain_ the muscles back into working order.

“It’ll be my pleasure. Can you walk?”

“You get me out of this damn thing and I’ll fly.”

“Then come on.”

“I’ll just get my tiara,” Stride quipped and winked, and Corvo didn’t know whether to admire her spirit or to fault her for being so… familiar with arguably the most dangerous man in the Empire.

Daud, however, seemed oblivious to Corvo’s concern, smirking at her instead. “I’d ask if you stole it, but I suppose you didn’t just get your merchant papers from that admiral’s wife you seduced.”

Corvo blinked.

“Not just his wife, you know. Now pull the damn lever.”

Daud reached around Corvo’s back to unlock the stocks. They opened and Stride got up, shaking herself like a wet dog. Then, she stepped forward – and turned green.

“Daud… I think…” With a shudder, she stopped, then went down like a sack of potatoes. Corvo lunged forward to catch her. Carefully, he felt for a pulse.

“What now?” He looked up at Daud when he was sure Stride was merely out like a light, but otherwise fine.

“I’m not carrying her out.” Daud clenched his fist, his Mark glowing. They waited, Corvo keeping two fingers pressed to Lizzy's pulse point out of sheer, if dubious, civility, and a minute later, Thomas appeared next to them.

“Daud,” Thomas questioned, then turned to Corvo as he stood, Stride in his arms, ready to hand her over. Thomas accepted her without a word, slinging her over his shoulder.

“She’s badly beaten, but alive. Take her back to the Hound Pits, have Aedan take a look at her,” Corvo told him, and Thomas nodded.

“What about you, are you done?”

“Not yet. We’ll take a look at that interrogation that went so wrong. We’ll return to the pub after,” Daud instructed.

“Sir.” Thomas saluted them, then vanished.

“Now let’s take a look at that witch,” Daud grunted, then transversed down the hall. Corvo followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Corvo's inner monologue before kissing Daud again KILLED ME DEAD.  
> b) HANDS BRUSHING KLAXON. Daud is so gone for him, it's not even funny anymore. Thomas is just like, Well, this is an improvement. (Seriously, when Daud told him to come along to Coldridge, he was like, Ugh ~~dad~~ do I have to??  
>  c) *to the tune of Oh Vienna* Oooooh, Breannaaaaaa...  
> d) PULL THE LEVER, DAUD. (...) WRONG LEVER. Sorry. (Srsly what is it with the Disney references.)  
> e) All notes and instructions inside Coldridge are from The Brigmore Witches/A Stay of Execution for Lizzy.


	8. Who by very slow decay (Daud)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud's flying solo in Drapers Ward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was honestly one of my favourite chapters to write — I love the Drapers Ward mission most, and writing Daud pulling a job solo was a treat. Of course I also loved writing him coming home to Corvo when the day is done <3
> 
> Kisses and huggles to everyone who came on board in the past couple weeks, your support means the world!
> 
> xoxo
> 
> This week's soundtrack is very à propos Daud's mood: [Young Men Dead](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VvKjpGP6P5Y&index=24&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN)

**DAUD'S LOG**

> _13, Month of Ice, 1837_
> 
> _I think of Jessamine Kaldwin’s hands shuddering as she lost her grip on life. I failed an Empress, but saved her daughter, who will from this day forward rule the Empire. Today, of all days._
> 
> _Whatever doom is coming, I deserve it. My people don’t._
> 
> _17, Month of Seeds, 1837_
> 
> _I’m in a strange duel with a mad witch named Delilah — but for what? I’d say I was being punished, but I know that the world doesn’t punish wicked people. We make our choices and take what comes. And the rest is Void. I can’t say I wasn’t warned._
> 
> _4, Month of Timber, 1837_
> 
> _The Brigmores were an ancient family bankrupted a generation ago. Since then, the Manor has housed two street gangs, a smuggling ring, innumerable rats… and the Brigmore witches. I’d always left them alone, but now a painter named Delilah had taken up witchcraft and formed a coven. She was trying something — a ritual. But what kind? The Outsider knows, I cannot abide a mystery._
> 
> _6, Month of Clans, 1837_
> 
> _The manor’s up-river, far out past the quarantine line. What I need is a smuggler who knows the river. Someone I can trust. It’s a reflection of Dunwall — or perhaps myself — that the best choice I have is Lizzy Stride. And Lizzy Stride is in jail._
> 
> _8, Month of Clans, 1837_
> 
> _The city is changing fast. A year ago, Drapers Ward was where Dunwall’s rich and well-born strolled and shopped and tried to be seen. The Plague burnt through it in days. Today, it’s a battleground where two street gangs fight over the spoils._
> 
> _Edgar Wakefield betrayed Lizzy and took her place, and her riverboat. It’s the kind of thing that happens every day in Dunwall. I don’t judge him, I’ve done worse myself. But I need that boat. Edgar Wakefield and I have business._

* * *

The interrogation room… was far beyond anything Daud could have imagined. Magic was, first and foremost, neutral, its force had capacity not merely for destruction; but seeing this… whatever the witch strapped into the torturer’s chair had been subjected to, she had repaid it tenfold. Finding an audiograph on the desk, Daud inserted the card and pressed the button to play. 

> _Is she strapped in right? Good. Doesn't look like much, does she?_
> 
> _Comfortable? All right, we'll get this done. Let's start with how you go into Barrister Timsh's house in the first place. Was it one of the servants that let you in? One of the guards?_
> 
> _Nothing? All right. Corporal, use the hammer. That's right, the smaller one._

The witch could be heard screaming in agony.

> _Hmm. Can't really tell if she felt that. Don't want to break anything._
> 
> _Let's try again. How did you - wait, do you hear a kind of ringing in your ears? What's happening to her face, is she going to - ? Oh, no. Oh no! Shoot her! Shoot her! Shoot -_

A rushing sound, screams from both the witch and the guards, the crack of gunfire. Then silence.

“Self-immolation?” Corvo asked from next to him, surveying the state of the room. The concrete floor was shattered, jagged edges broken open by the roots of massive plants that seemed to have burst into life covering everything, ensnaring the lifeless structures that stood in their way. Pipes were protruding from the broken ceiling, causing a steady drip-drip of water, slowly but surely turning the ground into a swamp. In its centre, the chair, and with it the burnt carcass of the witch. Shadows too black to be of this realm swirled at her feet and, going closer, Daud’s ears ached with the hiss of the Void, albeit a different tune than he was used to.

“Whatever happened, she was desperate enough to sacrifice herself. Or perhaps she herself didn’t even know she could do this,” Daud replied, stopping a few feet away from the desk. Her anguished, panicked cries would certainly suggest it. “Anything else back there?” he asked over his shoulder.

He heard Corvo grunt, then the heavy thunk of something hitting the desktop. He turned to find Corvo with his mask pushed up off his face and opening a rough canvas bag. “Here,” Corvo said, handing him a piece of paper, “this note was attached to it.”

> _Lt Wright,_
> 
> _The Hatter we brought in was trying to stash his loot in the canal when we busted him. Looks like he's the one who hit Lord Brimon's carriage a few nights back. So far he has not named his accomplices, but he will once he gets his turn in the Interrogation Room. Document everything and then deliver it to the Lord Protector's office. And make sure none of it gets "lost" along the way or it's both our heads._
> 
> _\- Ashfield_

“Deliver it to you?” Daud raised an eyebrow. “You are keeping them on a leash.”

“Not short enough,” Corvo growled as he inspected what the Hatter the Watch had caught had apparently taken off Lord Brimon. “A few ingots, nothing exciting. Or illegal.”

“Pity.” Daud crossed his arms and leaned against the banister, looking back at the witch. “Timsh,” he said.

“I know,” Corvo said as he returned the contraband to where he’d found it. “Plenty of reasons to try and get in there, and none of them good.”

That, Daud thought, was an understatement. “Whatever Delilah is planning, she’s close to finishing it. If the witches were able to lie low following your disappearance and still accomplish what they needed, they weren’t entirely dependent on us playing into their hands; nor anyone else’s help, for that matter. Well. Except for one.”

“Billie,” Corvo said quietly.

Daud nodded. “She wants _me_ out of the way, but why?” he asked, frustration coming out loud and clear. Daud had turned the question over and over in his mind for months now and come to no satisfactory conclusion. Delilah knew he'd play an important role in coming events, but could she have known _what_ was coming? And what was it that made him a threat to her — his powers? Or his entanglement with the Kaldwins, after all?

Corvo sighed. "We'll find out, and then we'll take her down."

“Put your face back on,” Daud said, tone softening. “We’ve got to get going.”

***

All things being equal, Daud would have preferred to head to Drapers Ward directly, but there was no sense in it until they knew whether Lizzy would even be able to stand, much less assume control of the Eels.

Making the arduous journey back to the Hound Pits, they followed Quinn’s directions to head up to the first floor. In one of the rooms, they found her on a cot, Aedan applying Sokolov’s elixir to the worst scrapes and bruises.

“She’s sleeping,” he informed them when they entered. “They worked her over pretty good, I had to tip two elixirs down her throat to settle the worst of it when she came to. She’ll be alright now, though, just needs more rest.”

As if on cue, Lizzy began to cough, her congested lungs making the job even more difficult as she sat up, startled into wakefulness by her own convulsions.

“Shit,” she rasped when the fit was over.

“Stride,” Aedan said, bending slightly towards her, “do you know where you are?”

“Yeah, yeah, not again,” came the impatient answer. “Hound Pits, also known as the last shithole anyone would think to look for you.” She squinted up at Daud and Corvo. “How nice of you to join us.”

“I could say the same to you,” Daud repaid her attitude in kind. “How soon can you be on your feet?”

Stride scoffed, swinging her legs over the side of the cot. “Nothing keeps me down, you know that.” A pair of Whaler boots had been scrounged up for her, Daud realised as she slipped into them, bare feet first, blisters and all.

“Aedan?” Corvo asked before Daud could.

“She’s dehydrated and malnourished,” Aedan answered, addressing Corvo with the same bluntness he otherwise reserved for Daud. “A few days at least. Anything else would be reckless.”

“I’m fine,” Stride protested, pushing herself up. Daud watched, unmoving, as she swayed a little on her feet but managed to remain upright. “See?”

“When was the last time you ate?” Daud asked her.

“I wasn’t exactly keeping track of the scraps they fed me,” she tossed back at him. “I want my ship back, and I ain’t sittin’ around here, waiting, while Wakefield puts it on the bottom of the Ocean.”

“The Undine hasn’t left port in weeks,” Daud informed her. “Wakefield’s not running away in a hurry.”

Lizzy scowled, no doubt foreseeing further trouble for the Eels and the Undine if Wakefield hadn’t actually left the harbour in so long. “Another reason for me to get down there right now.”

“Tomorrow night,” Daud bargained.

“Noon,” Stride countered. “I want that bastard to lose his ship in broad daylight.”

Corvo lightly tapped his arm.

“Give us a minute,” Daud told Stride. At his words, Corvo turned on his heel and made for the door. Daud followed. Outside in the hall, the door ajar behind them, he asked, “What?”

“We’ve got a trade delegation from Tyvia coming in, they’re arriving in the morning, and Emily’s expected to meet with them for several hours. They’ve expressed a wish to speak with me as well.” Corvo didn’t have to explain why – he, rather than Emily at this point, was the diplomatic tie between Jessamine and the other Isles. “I won’t be able to get away.”

Corvo presented this information with no notion of urgency, which Daud appreciated. It was up to him to decide whether this was a two-man job – and if it was, whether it required the two of them. So far, their challenges had required brains rather than brawn, their approach being stealth rather than frontal assault. The witches, however… they couldn’t afford to be caught off guard again.

Daud thought it over for a minute, coming to a decision. “I’ll take Galia and Rulfio. She knows that part of the city well, and he's been scouting it out since the gangs took over.”

Corvo nodded. “Watch out when you pass through the Distillery District. The Bottle Street Gang’s been getting into skirmishes with the City Watch recently.”

Daud shrugged. “I haven’t forgotten about Granny Rags, either. If push comes to shove, Slackjaw can decide who he likes less.”

“I’m not so sure you’ll lose that contest,” Corvo reminded him.

Daud grinned. “Neither am I.” Not waiting for Corvo to respond, he marched back into the room. “You’ll get your ship back tomorrow.”

*

Once they had hashed out the remaining details with Stride, Corvo and Daud trudged on to Daud’s room at the end of the hall. Lighting the lamp on his desk, Daud watched as Corvo closed the door and removed his mask.

“Finally,” he groaned, beads of sweat on his brow that he wiped away with the back of his sleeve.

“Better than Stride seeing your face before she has to,” Daud said as he sat down.

“Will she have to?” Corvo sat as well, setting the mask down on the desk, next to Daud’s ink blotter.

“She’s going to demand it, and then she’s going to give you a choice.”

“A choice?”

“Between something you absolutely don’t want,” here Daud gestured at the mask, “and something you want even less.”

Corvo scoffed.

“And then she’s going to throw you in the brig, because you’re too Void-damned stubborn,” Daud finished with a smirk.

Corvo narrowed his eyes at him. “I don’t know if that’s approval of me I’m hearing, or of Stride.”

“I’m not approving of anyone.” Daud reached for a nearly empty packet of Dunwall Navy Cut, then lifted a few files to find his matches.

“Here,” Corvo said, tossing him a matchbook. Daud, cigarette already clamped between his lips, grunted in thanks.

“I don’t know how you can smoke those,” Corvo pulled a face as Daud took a deep drag.

Daud shrugged. “They’re cheap.”

“They’re bits of asphalt wrapped in paper,” Corvo pronounced his opinion.

While he generally would have been content to let Corvo insult his choice in vices, Daud had questions. “Tyvia is actually willing to discuss the blockade?”

“I was surprised as well,” Corvo agreed. “They’re sending five delegates, which is a good sign.”

“Why five?”

Now it was Corvo’s turn to smirk. “Three means they’re wilfully wasting your time. Seven or more means all of them are incompetent and whoever sent them wants them out of their hair for a while. Five is good.”

Daud stared at Corvo for a moment, wondering whether he was having him on. When Corvo didn’t so much as twitch, Daud raised a brow. “Found that out through years of scientific study, did you?”

“Politics,” Corvo shrugged.

Another reason why nothing could have ever enticed Daud to enter that snakes’ nest – aside from the defect of his less than noble birth, of course – was the sheer absurdity of it all. Promises were broken as easily as they’d been made, it seemed, and so loyalty, the currency exchanged between nations’ rulers, had all but lost its value. The blockade against Gristol, and particularly Dunwall as its capital city, served as the latest example of that. Daud flicked the end of his cigarette.

“Are you staying?” he asked Corvo, seeing as their assignment tonight had been cut short due to Lizzy’s poor state.

Corvo hesitated, but then shook his head. “No, I’ll head back. It’s going to be an early morning and it wouldn’t do for the maids not to find me where I should be. Or the guards, for that matter.”

Daud hummed.

“Want me to return a message to Emily?” Corvo asked as he stood and collected his mask.

“I wasn’t kicking you out,” Daud told him, the attempt to keep the words in much like closing the barn door well after the horse had bolted.

Corvo smiled, his eyes warm in the fading light. “I know, but it is late, and I’ll be a while. I should get moving.”

“Alright,” Daud rumbled, “I’ll meet you at the Tower once I’m done in Drapers Ward.” Remembering Corvo’s question, he added, “And just tell her: I will.”

“She’ll be pleased to hear it,” Corvo said with a nod. Then he looked down, turning the mask in his hands for a moment. “I am, too,” he added eventually, seeking Daud’s eyes with his. Daud was about to reply when Corvo braced his knuckles on the desk and leaned across, telegraphing his intent and his approach slow enough for Daud to evade him, should he choose to.

He didn’t.

“Good night,” Corvo murmured against his cheek, the low caress of his voice no easier on Daud’s nerves than the brush of his lips on his skin.

“Good night, Corvo.”

***

The next morning, Daud reached out to Samuel with a request to ferry ‘a guest’ towards the River Front. The boatman agreed readily enough, and when he arrived to pick up Stride, he simply took in her appearance and closed-off expression with a long look, then nodded; as if to say they’d get along just fine. As the boat pulled away from the dock, Daud turned to summon Rulfio.

“Get Fleet. Follow them and scout ahead, then meet me where the Undine is docked.”

“Sir.” Rulfio vanished, leaving Daud to his preparations. Now, in the unforgiving light of morning, it occurred to him that this would be the first mission he was running without Corvo in nearly a year. Patrols and raids, sure, but nothing of this scale, nothing that required… engagement. During all their time at the Hound Pits, Corvo had been with him, right here in his office, the morning before they were due to head out, compiling final patrol reports, going over entry points and drop-offs, finalising the approach. Something gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside. He remembered Emily’s ‘message’ from the night before – another ritual, tentative though it had been while she’d lived here with them.

A heretic and a killer, Daud didn’t believe in superstition.

*

Daud had to get through Drapers Ward to make his way to the River Front, and not even Thomas’ detailed reports could have prepared him for the true extent of the disrepair of the district. Forsaken by more than just the City Watch, Drapers Ward hadn’t stood a chance against the gangs, and although Daud minded the Dead Eels less than the Hatters, he ground his teeth at the signs of open warfare. Running a district down was the surest way to commence their own destruction, Daud could have told them if any of them had been inclined to listen instead of gutting him on sight – either the Hatters with their knives, or the Eels with their harpoons. Harpoons, for crying out loud.

Seeing as it was a sunny day, today of all days, Daud remained overhead, taking note of the guard posts of either faction Rulfio had pointed out to him in his report. He bypassed Jerome, the black market dealer, unwilling to put up with his rambling today, and instead made his way towards a small apartment a few houses further down the row when he used Void Gaze to scan for runes or charms and found one – but not in the gutters as expected: attached to a wall, by the looks of it. Runes nailed to the wall _never_ meant anything good.

A person was moving about inside, pacing, agitated. Daud made his approach silently, creeping past two Dead Eels dead set on complaining about whatever they could – apparently, even if the weather wasn’t shit, being stuck up here was still more punishment than keeping watch on the Hatters was worth – and transversed up onto the broken fire escape. From inside, he heard muttering, but didn’t linger to find out what it was the man was saying.

Instead, he straightened and stepped inside while his back was turned, casting a quick glance around the room. What he saw made him stop short – those drawings on the walls… were unmistakably Emily’s. He knew. He’d seen her draw so many times, during meals, during her lessons as Callista quizzed her on the things she’d learnt; and to be fair, that fat, winged pony was a dead giveaway. His brows drew together when he spotted the drawing of a whale, too; and he darkened further when he noticed a doll sitting next to the stove, one that he recognised from one of his visits to the Tower _before_. Looking back at the man, he clenched his jaw. How had he gotten these?

He stepped closer, flicking his wrist to load a sleep dart. If he wanted, he could walk up right to the man’s back and put the tip of the dart into his brain without him ever knowing he was there. He’d done it before. There was a twist low in his belly. He didn’t check over his shoulder to see that Corvo was not with him.

Rather than announce himself, Daud waited until the man turned and saw him – and he did, startling badly when he recognised him, stumbling back but not making a sound. People rarely screamed when they saw his face. Once they had, it was already too late; if they ever saw it at all.

“Are—are you with her?” he asked him fearfully.

“With who?” Daud asked darkly.

“Her, Delilah. No, wait, you—you aren’t wearing roses,” the man said as if that explained anything.

“Name’s Daud,” he told him, watching as his eyes widened again.

“Daud,” he breathed, “of course. There’ve been rumours of Whalers coming in and out of the district.”

“Who are you,” Daud cut through the details, then pointed at the wall. “And why do you have this?”

Blinking as he realised that Daud, at least for the moment, truly did not appear bloodthirsty, the man was speechless for a moment. Then he gathered himself and began to speak.

“I used to work for the royal family, I was their tailor for nigh on twenty years. I knew Euhorn, then Jessamine, and sweet little Emily as well. She always used to draw while I was at the Tower.” At the mention of Emily’s name, his tone turned simpering, and Daud’s hackles rose despite his best intentions. Still, he let him continue. “But now my hands are useless, shaking when I so much as pick up a needle. They kept me on as long as they could, but eventually I gave up my position. They gave me a token,” here he smiled. “A lock of Emily’s hair, as precious to me as their friendship. But now it’s gone.”

“Gone?” Daud bit out, neglecting to tell him that if whoever had taken it hadn’t done so, he just might have, disbelieving of the tailor’s honesty. Not that anyone ever would have come close enough to Emily in Jessamine and Corvo’s presence to obtain such a token without permission.

“Delilah took it,” the tailor admitted, to his shame, and Daud’s blood turned cold.

“What happened?” he growled.

“Did you ever meet the Empress?” Without waiting for an answer, the dressmaker continued, “She was so special, and I was able to count her among my friends.”

“Delilah,” Daud prompted, reigning in his impatience, but only barely.

“She visited me here. It was such a surprise to see her, all grown up. So serious. Did you know she was once a playmate of Jessamine’s? Before she was an Empress, when they were both little. I thought it was a cordial visit at first, but it turned… frightening. She made… things come out of the shadows, long and grasping. I can still feel the cold on my neck. I sound mad, don’t I? Perhaps I am. She questioned me and then left me propped up in the corner like a bolt of cloth. I couldn’t move for three nights while she made the horrid markings you see now. Then she stole my only keepsake, my lock of hair from dear, sweet Emily. Ah, but to see her back at the Tower… damn that Burrows. And damn that Delilah.”

His attention thus diverted back to the occult markings on the walls and the floor, and to the rune, Daud didn’t question the man further. He plucked the rune off the wall, nearly hissing when its magic seemed to burn at the touch, even through his gloves. He should take the drawings, too.

“Daud,” the dressmaker addressed him without warning, “I wonder. If you could—”

“No.” Without another word, Daud walked out onto the balcony, then transversed down towards the gate leading to the harbour.

*

“Daud,” Rulfio and Galia appeared in front of him in a small apartment serving as a weapons stash for the Dead Eels. “The Eels are being watched. We spotted a witch on that roof over there just five minutes ago. She vanished before we could get a good look at her.”

He cursed under his breath. “Delilah knows.”

“Not necessarily. Breaking Lizzy out of prison did not go over quietly, at least not for those keeping their ears to the ground. Edgar Wakefield’s been in a panic ever since news reached him. He’s expecting her, though. You’ll undoubtedly surprise him. You might yet surprise Delilah, too.”

“What about the Hatters?”

“Quiet today, mostly. I haven’t been able to figure out their password,” Galia reported. “But they’ve got an Arc Pylon now, Void knows how they got their hands on one, so fighting our way in’s out.”

"Hopefully it won't come to that." Daud had no plans to tangle with the Hatters that day.

"If it does?"

"Then we'll get the password out of one of them when we have to. Where's Stride?"

"Samuel docked a ways away, but close enough to hear the ship's horn. She's waiting with him."

"He's still alive?"

Rulfio shrugged. "They get along."

Daud nodded. "Alright. Let's go."

There were Eels all over the docks as well as roaming the ship. Lizzy's crew was a misfit bunch of former deck monkeys and smugglers from across the Isles. Daud recognised faces and voices from Morley, Tyvia, and Serkonos, some accents so thick Daud had to strain his ears to follow their conversations, little though he lingered. As he laid one of the deck hands down to sleep on top of a wagon, he heard another say that Wakefield had shut himself away in the cargo hold, muttering about Lizzy's escape from Coldridge. He was scared. Good.

Transversing down onto the pier, hidden behind a stack of crates, he checked the water for hag fish. A whole school of them were milling about near the front of the Undine, but what he needed to get to was the hidden hatch underneath that allowed smuggling vessels like the Undine to dump their cargo in case of an inspection by the guard. Nothing for it, he decided, waiting for a moment when most sailors' backs were turned and then dove, head-first, into the water.

*

“I remember your boat being bigger,” Daud said critically when Lizzy stood on deck next to him half an hour later. Below deck, Rulfio was standing guard over Wakefield’s unconscious body. Watching Lizzy take a finger each (and two from Annabelle) from her crew for letting Wakefield get away with his betrayal, he wasn’t taking chances, even knowing that there was no telling her what to do after he was gone.

“I remember you being quieter,” she informed him without missing a beat. He shrugged. She didn't speak for a moment, then she asked, “You realise what the Hatters did, right?”

He turned to look at her. “What did they do?”

She sighed. “They stole our engine coil. Without it, we’re dead in the water. Sorry, Daud, but we’re not going anywhere.”

“Can’t you just… get a new one? If it’s about the cost, I can—”

“Keep your damn coin,” she sneered. “The parts we need aren’t made anymore, not for engines like the Undine’s. We gotta get it back, or we’re stuck here.”

Daud considered that, and then something occurred to him. “The canal.”

“What?”

“Millenary Canal, it dried up. Without the water to power the turbines… of course they needed your engine coil.”

“I don’t give a fuck why,” Stride crossed her arms. “Question is, can you get it back?” At his unimpressed stare, she shrugged. “You’re the one who dragged me out of that nice prison cell because you needed a riverboat. So are you gonna help, or just stand here and look handsome in bad lighting?”

Daud sighed, then clenched his fist. Galia appeared next to him. “We’re going to need that password.”

Before Galia could say anything, Stride surprised them both. “Whalebone. I once tortured it out of a Hatter. In exchange, he got to keep his fingers.”

Daud narrowed his eyes at her. Lizzy Stride, leaving a Hatter alive?

“That information best be good,” he told her, then transversed away, Fleet on his heels; leaving Rulfio to keep an eye on the Undine.

***

It was, damn her.

“You believe her?” Galia hissed as they cased the building the Hatters were locked into, enough traps on the front door to blow up a small battalion of Overseers. (Now that, Daud would pay to see.)

“Not for a moment. But if she’s lying about how she got that password, she’s got a good reason.”

Disinclined to go for another swim, Daud picked a different route. From their vantage point, he was able to free up a boarded-up window by shooting bolts at the wooden planks nailed over it. Leaving Galia to take care of the Hatters patrolling the yard, just in case, he transversed up onto the window sill, then immediately inside and into the shadows, having spotted a Hatter in the stairwell right across from the window. Luckily, he didn’t appear to have seen the boards fall, or to have noticed them missing. Once the Hatter was on his way up the stairs again, Daud transversed up behind him.

Daud had known that the Geezer, as everyone had taken to calling Mortimer Hat once he’d passed the age of 50, was sick, had even known that the Hatters had hired a nurse to look after him. He’d recognised the name of the nurse as well: Trimble, the very same arrogant peacock who’d lost the ‘duel’ against Piero all those years ago and had been forced to walk away from the Academy as a result.

What he hadn’t known was that the Geezer was so desperately ill that he could barely lift a finger, or that it was de facto Trimble leading the Hatters now, not the old Hat himself. In light of all that, the machine that the old man was hooked up to and that would flood the entire place with poisonous gas if he died, was just another in a long line of impossible things Daud had become so inured to, living in Dunwall for most of his life now.

“Daud,” the Geezer wheezed when he entered the main office, having left Trimble upstairs to sleep off the chokehold. “You’re the one who freed Lizzy, aren’t you?”

Daud confirmed it, wondering not for the first time today where this was going, and the Geezer nodded in… approval?

“I gave her the password, you know. Always hoped she might come visit me… before the end. Such a pretty smile.”

Daud held his tongue on the subject.

“But you’re not here to listen to an old man reminisce. You want the engine coil.”

“I need it,” Daud said gruffly. “I don’t want to kill anyone, but I need that coil.”

“You’ll need the code to access the sewers. Trimble thought he could manage to keep it a secret from me. So much so that he got too lazy to change it every week, as he should have done.”

“What’s the code?”

The Geezer laughed or, rather, rattled. “There’s a price on everything, assassin. Are you still, Daud? I’ve kept an eye on the news these past months. Do you still know how to kill?”

Daud gritted his teeth. “One last contract before you kick off, is that it?”

“So you might say, kid, but not the way you think. All things being equal, it would be a kindness.”

“Who?”

“Me, you fool,” the Geezer spat.

“What?”

“I’m only alive because there’s whale oil in that tank,” Hat pointed at a fixture on the wall behind him. “My days are done, and I’ve had enough. But keep your fancy knife, will you? Just pull out the tank and be done with it.”

“What about the gas?”

“Trimble keeps the formula for the antidote in his safe upstairs. As he’s not with us now, I presume you’ve already found it. Brew the elixir, take it, come back here.”

“Your men? The workers?”

The Geezer regarded him shrewdly. “If you’re so _concerned_ , knock them out and put them in one of the warehouses, they’ll be safe enough there. As for Trimble… I’ll leave that up to you.”

Daud didn’t have to ask that the thought of Trimble choking on his own poison would delight the old man.

“I’ll consider it.”

Once outside in the yard, he summoned Galia.

“Boss?”

“We’re going to take out the remaining Hatters and the workers they’ve got shut up in there, and then you’re going to head back.”

She stared at him, taken aback. “What?”

“Don’t question my planning, Fleet,” he growled. With a strange tension to her shoulders, she nodded, then transversed and got to work. Between them, it only took them minutes to incapacitate all the Hatters left wandering around.

Once he was certain that Galia was on her way back to the Undine, Daud took the stairs up to the office. The noise his heavy boots made against the metal walkway was deliberate, letting the Geezer know someone was coming.

“There you are,” Hat greeted him when he entered. “So what’s it gonna be?”

*

Daud was pocketing the engine coil when he remembered one of the notes he’d found in the warehouses (next to the Bullfrog embryo and a rune, for what it was worth). Mechanics had been going down into the sewers, never to return, after the water had mysteriously shut off nearly a month ago. He contemplated the key he’d taken off Trimble’s belt.

The Knife of Dunwall could not abide a mystery.

Avoiding the river krust, he discovered the Hatters’ missing mechanics soon enough. One, already devoured by the rats, the other still fresh, dead for hardly more than two days. Daud sighed. Inspecting the corpse, he found… puncture wounds. Vicious ones, the tissue around them scarring as if burnt. Kneeling beside the corpse, he inspected one of the injuries, frowning when something seemed to be stuck inside it. Some kind of projectile, but broken off so it barely rose past the edges of the wound. Setting his jaw, Daud raised his hands and pressed down on the surrounding skin, finding it malleable enough. Pushing and prodding, he managed to hold onto the end of whatever had embedded itself, and then started pulling carefully. Slowly, it came free, slipping from the wound with a noise like boots bogged down in mud.

Holding it up against the dim lights, Daud thought it looked like... a thorn. Brittle, and clearly the original would have been bigger than what remained in the wound, going by the jagged edges. Streaks of angry red ran through it, and even though the thing must have been as dead as its unwilling host, Daud was scared to touch it, lest it burn him, too. Dimly, Daud recalled a legend that witches could summon deadly plants from beneath the earth, black with red streaks, coiling and hissing, that could crush a man in seconds. He thought of the dressmaker, unable to move for three days and nights.

He wrapped the thorn up in a handkerchief and stuffed it into a pocket of his coat. Then, he followed the illuminated corridor until he came to a door. Locked. There was another corridor branching off the main sewer stream, secured with wooden boards.

And much as he could never abide a mystery, he also never could resist a keep-out sign. He broke the barrier with a few strikes of his blade and pushed onward.

“Hello? Is someone there? Please, I need your help!” A woman, sitting on the metal walkway near the water pressure controls. Even from this distance, he could tell she was wearing roses. Daud reached for one of the stun mines in a pouch on his belt.

As he strode towards her, he hoped Corvo wasn’t too strained for attention, haggling with the trade delegation from Tyvia. When he got closer, he called on Void Gaze to guide his way, and could just barely make out two more witches nearby, lying in wait behind a grate. He stopped and weighed the mine in his hand. Fully upgraded, one mine was good for three charges

Still, it might pay to pass unseen, he decided.

Bending time, he circumvented the witch taking point on the ambush, and found two others, whispering.

"Our sister... she's auditioning for the Dunwall Opera," one of them said.

"More like the Golden Cat," the other answered with disdain.

"Well. She caught that Hatter easily enough."

"That fool, yes. But what if Daud comes this way? He won't fall for a pretty face and a few tears."

"Then so much for our little sister. But we'll make sure the job is done."

Daud had heard enough. Sneaking up behind them, he put a sleep dart each in their backs before either of them knew what was happening. Making his way back towards the actress playing her part, he considered his next move. The witches were right, he wouldn't fall for a pretty face — and this close to his prize, the witches would show no mercy. Making sure 'the job is done' meant leaving him trussed up by his own guts, for Corvo to find when he didn't return by morning. He had more pride than that.

Leaving the stun mine on his belt, he walked inside, leaving no doubt who was coming.

"Please, can you help me? My boy, he ran off, and now I can't find him. If you could just help me up," the witch cried pitifully.

Daud went up the metal stairs and came up close, but didn't speak, observing the young woman looking up at him with wide, deceitful eyes. Hat was already dead, he thought. What harm would a little maiming do?

When he moved, the witch misread it and extended her arm, as if expecting him to help her up in some gentlemanly fashion. He let her believe it. At the last second, his right hand went for his blade, his left grabbed for her wrist. Twisting her arm, he flipped the handle of his sword in one fluid motion, then stabbed her without another thought, experience guiding his movements so that the blade would slot clean between the two bones of her forearm with somewhat surgical precision — an irony Sokolov might have appreciated, if Daud had ever been inclined to share any such details with him. The witch screamed, and Daud felt the sound hollow out just another tiny piece of his soul.

"I almost had you, Daud. You could have had an easy death," the witch snarled, fury in her eyes.

Daud reacted by driving his blade deeper into her flesh. Again, she screamed, and again, he fractured. He reminded himself who he was doing this for. And who wasn't here to stop him doing it.

"Tell me what Delilah's doing at Brigmore," he demanded.

"Why ask," she shot back, hatred twisting her face. "When the change comes, you won't even notice. You'll never even know how we won. But when Delilah sits the secret throne, our reign will never end."

"That's enough." He ripped his sword away, then knocked her out with the handle. She crumpled to the ground, unconscious. A generous fate, he found. In any case, his mind was already reeling. The secret throne? The change? Delilah's _reign_? This confirmed Daud's — and no less Corvo's — greatest fear. Delilah's true target... was Emily. He had no idea how or through which means she meant to accomplish this, but Delilah had set her sights on the highest seat in the Empire. Rage surged inside him, and he bared his teeth. If she wanted it, she'd have to go through him. And if he knew anything about magic, witches, and those who sought for the Void: they were all as mortal as the rest of them. Sooner or later, they all fell — and a blade to the heart generally meant sooner.

Thus overtaken, Daud did not notice the witch in his blind spot until it was too late.

***

“Bored without me?” Daud asked as he transversed in through the open window in Corvo’s quarters. Night had already fallen outside. It'd been a long day for both of them, as evidenced by the fact that Corvo had shed his coat and vest, standing only in his shirtsleeves, the dark blue fabric in keeping with the Kaldwin colours. It looked soft to the touch.

Corvo smirked, then beckoned him over to the desk. “Look at this,” he said.

Reluctantly, Daud walked closer, ignoring the pain in his side. He knew how to hide injuries, had a lifetime’s worth of scars to prove it, and now was no different. Or at least, it shouldn’t have been. Corvo’s gaze passed over him as he walked over, ignorant of what he might find if he thought to look for it, and a shiver crawled down Daud’s back as he realised the  _other_ implications of such a frank appraisal. Still, Corvo had keen eyes, and when he stopped at about the height of Daud’s waist, Daud internalised a sigh. He may have just about acting talent enough not to let on, but the tear in his coat not quite hidden by Daud's belt, unwilling as he’d been to detour to the Hound Pits, put on a spare (and make Corvo about equally suspicious), was a dead giveaway, to coin a phrase.

"What happened," Corvo asked about as sharply as he’d expected, already reaching for Daud as if he weren’t yet five feet away. His flaring nostrils indicated he had connected the singed edges of the tear with the acrid scent in the air.

"Witches, down in the sewers," Daud told him sparingly. The revelation that being a ruthless gang leader apparently ran in the family for some was not the most relevant to their objective. In any case, Stride was ready to take the trip upriver and past the blockade when they were. Her reaction when he’d told her about the Geezer… he _was_ sorry about that. He didn't yet mention what he'd learnt from the witch he'd interrogated.

Corvo glared. "You’re hurt." It was a demand more than a question.

"Blood Briar thorns," was all Daud was prepared to give. "Some of them can shoot them from their wrists." There’d been a fourth witch down in the sewers, scouting ahead, alerted by her sister’s screams. She’d managed to stick him in the side before he’d transversed up behind her and knocked her out.

There was no deterring Corvo now, as he stepped close and put one hand on Daud’s shoulder, the other hovering in the air by his waist. "How bad?"

"It’s nothing."

"I can see the blood," Corvo insisted, and Daud felt anger rear its head in his chest.

"Leave it," he growled, but regretted it instantly when, instead of ire, hurt twisted Corvo’s expression at being rebuked. Daud wondered absently at how it was now that they were getting closer that he found a way to put that look on Corvo’s face about once every day. Of course, his reluctance only brought out Corvo’s stubbornness, so it wasn’t long until he found himself unceremoniously pushed backwards. "Corvo, what—"

He stopped short when the backs of his knees hit something and he was pushed down to sit — on Corvo’s  _bed_. 

"Take off your coat," Corvo gestured at his torso.

Staring up at Corvo, Daud remained silent, caught between his own unwitting reaction to being… manhandled, and discomfort so intense he had half a mind to disappear; and he would have, if they didn't have important things to discuss.

Corvo, rational thought seeming to have caught up with him, bit his lip, which did nothing to make this any easier, and then had the audacity to shrug. "One moment."

With that, he turned and made for the door, opening it and sticking his head out. Daud heard him say, "Simmons, get Sokolov. Don’t be seen hurrying, and not a word to anyone." When he came back in, Daud shot him a look.

"He’s trustworthy."

"If you say so," Daud rumbled, slowly coming to terms with the comfortable firmness of the mattress underneath him — and the sight of Corvo, now standing close and practically towering over him.

"Show me."

"Corvo—"

"Now, Daud." It was as close as he’d ever heard Corvo to giving an order he expected to be obeyed, or else, and he narrowed his eyes even as, as if by their own volition, his hands went for the top button of his coat. Annoyed with Corvo _and_  himself, he began to undo the row of buttons and unbuckled his belt, refusing to look at Corvo and instead focusing on a spot somewhere over his shoulder.

Once he was down to his shirt, Corvo moved, sitting down on the edge of the bed, reaching for the shreds of his clothing, and Daud had to squash the impulse to bat his hands away.

"Patience," he rasped, untucking the shirt from his trousers and hoping desperately his face didn’t look as warm as it felt. Lifting the fabric past his waist, he sat up so Corvo had better access, cursing himself all the way. "It’s bandaged," he supplied as though Corvo couldn’t see that for himself.

"You went to see Aedan?" Corvo asked. At Daud’s pointed silence, he raised his head, frowning. "Field dressing? Really?"

"I didn’t have the time," Daud said roughly, staring straight ahead. He could very well bandage himself — that, after all, was why every Whaler carried minimal supplies with them wherever they went.

"Blood’s coming through," Corvo’s tone was about as gruff, and he was clearly unhappy with him.

Daud huffed. The thorn had only grazed him, hadn’t lodged itself in his skin, so as far as he was concerned, he’d gotten off lightly.

“Look at me,” Corvo prompted, then tapped his elbow when Daud didn’t react. Squaring his jaw, Daud turned his head and looked him in the eye. As much as Daud was trying to keep his expression neutral, Corvo obviously had no such concerns as he glared at him. “Sokolov’s going to take care of this, and then I want you to stay the night.”

Daud felt as though he’d swallowed his own tongue. “What.”

“This is why Emily insisted you get a room,” Corvo told him, only a hint of tension around his eyes betraying that he knew that his choice of words had affected Daud at all. “I want you here in case the wound’s infected.”

“Aedan—”

“Who you’ve already neglected to see,” Corvo interrupted him forcefully. “Sokolov’s the Head of the Academy and the Royal Physician. If you fall ill he’s the one to treat you.”

“I'm not royalty, Corvo. I have no place here.”

“And my place should have been by your side today,” Corvo barked, eyes widening when the words had barely left his mouth.

For a moment, Daud was speechless, merely staring at Corvo, who had recovered from his own shock and raised his chin as if daring Daud to contradict him. Forgetting entirely where he was, Daud let go of the hem of his shirt, grasped Corvo’s instead, and pulled him into a bruising kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) AHAHAHAHA I HATE MYSELF.  
> b) I realised that the first time I used Daud's log entries in Chapter 4, I put them in chronologically descending order, and I don't actually know why? Like Daud's log some sort of twitter feed, idk. (Imagine Daud on twitter, though. HA.) Anyway, they're in proper order here, as logs in the DH verse are usually written. (I've also corrected Chapter 4's entries to reflect this.)  
> c) If anyone wants to yell at me about DOTO (or about anything else), find me on tumblr (@screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse) or twitter (@andreamareike).  
> d) Yo hey so I'm making ebooks of this series!! You can read more about it and get a look at the covers on my tumblr: http://screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse.tumblr.com/post/165335625055/ayyy-so-guess-whos-making-ebooks-of-her


	9. Who by avalanche, who by powder (Corvo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interruption. A revelation. A gift. A lost ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahahaha thanks so much to everyone who commented last week, suffering various degrees of sexual frustration -- I know. I know. We're getting there.
> 
> ALSO: here's the eBook versions of It Seemed the Better Way, with cover variants for Corvo and Daud!! http://jmp.sh/s5jlFr1  
> If there are any formatting issues, please let me know! Available in epub, mobi, and azw3.
> 
> [Walk on Water by Diane Birch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yEpFSkvqpJc&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=25).

It was only fair, Corvo supposed, that it was his turn to be hauled around. He nearly groaned when Daud tugged on his bottom lip, clearly impatient and yet tightly-wound, controlled. Corvo straightened his back and pressed closer, stomach fluttering when Daud gave even just an inch of ground, tilting his head back to account for Corvo’s height.

The truth was, Corvo had felt uneasy all day. Hosting the trade delegation, Emily’s first official event of such scale, and his own return to dealing with foreign diplomats in a venture that could save Dunwall or tip it over the edge, all those things would have been enough to give him trouble sleeping. He had found his thoughts straying, however, during unoccupied moments, towards the clock and towards Daud. He knew it was nonsensical to worry – Daud was the most dangerous man in Dunwall, and no matter his conduct over the past year when it came to his sword and other people’s necks, that fact had remained unaltered.

To see him come back to Corvo injured, then, had kicked something loose in Corvo, letting him behave the way he had, pushing Daud about, only just masking his concern with anger – and when Daud had let him, Corvo had been so distracted by that alone that the sight of Daud sitting on his bed had taken embarrassingly long to register. He’d bit his lip to keep himself from apologising, deciding that such avenues were best left unexplored, and gone to have Simmons fetch Sokolov.

Corvo had seen Daud bleed before. In the kennels, once, when he’d taken his grief out on him and they hadn’t traded in swords only; blood had run down Daud’s chin, Corvo had walked away with a cut above his eye and no-one had dared to question them once they’d emerged. Corvo felt shame burn his cheeks at the memory, but it was quickly overridden by what he felt when he saw the bandages wrapped around Daud’s middle. Another scar to add to the ones Corvo could see now.

He should have been there — not because Daud wasn't capable, but because no-one should go up against a coven of witches on their own. But instead, he’d spent his day sitting in cushy chairs, discussing the fate of Dunwall’s citizens behind doors that were closed to them, to everyone; while Daud was out there among them, risking his life to put an end to a threat he had no obligation to combat. He could have left, and yet he’d stayed, and now he was kissing Corvo as if he was _glad_.

Not knowing what to do with his hands, Corvo set his left on the bed by Daud’s hip and the other, uncertain, on Daud’s knee, rewarded when Daud’s leg twitched and his lips parted against Corvo’s on a soft gasp.

Corvo wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t know where they were, or how little time they had before there would be a knock on the door; and so he wrenched away from the temptation of Daud’s warm breath against his lips before he did something there was no coming back from. Daud made a small noise that might have been protest, so Corvo sought to reassure him by gently squeezing his leg.

“There’s no time,” he murmured gently, opening his eyes to see Daud’s were still closed. His fingers still clenched in Corvo’s shirt, he bent his head and nodded, then slowly let go. His breathing was deep and steady, reigning himself in, and Corvo attempted to do the same as he let go of Daud and turned towards the room, except perhaps one look at their faces would tell Sokolov everything he needed to know. Corvo remembered, only too well, the traitorous quality of kiss-bitten lips. Corvo remembered, too, the older man’s words to him during the Surge.

_Don’t fret, Corvo, he’ll be back before you know it._

It had taken everything Corvo had not to draw Daud into an embrace the second he’d come back down the stairs in Piero’s workshop, the plans for the Arc Pylon in his hands. Unscathed, that day.

Perhaps a good look at them then had already been enough.

Daud dropped his hands in his lap and raised his gaze to Corvo’s and glared at him. “Don’t make me want to do that again,” he said accusingly, and Corvo’s stomach flipped not only at the words themselves but at the strain in his voice, as if all that was holding him back was the impending knock on the door.

“No promises,” Corvo replied just as the knock on the door did come. He got up to answer, if just to make sure that Simmons didn’t see more than he should, but he needn’t have worried. Simmons stood with his back to the door, acknowledging Corvo’s thanks with a nod as Sokolov pushed past him into the room.

Corvo closed the door but didn’t lock it, trusting that Simmons would keep any more late interruptions from entering. Sokolov made his way towards Daud, whose expression had closed while Corvo’s back was turned, staring straight ahead again as the physician removed the bandages.

“What happened?”

Daud gave Sokolov much the same story as he had Corvo, leaving out only his encounter with Mortimer Hat. Corvo opted to settle down at his desk at that, as from there he could still see what Sokolov was doing, yet was able to give Daud space to deal with the intrusion. Corvo knew he wouldn’t be best pleased with being treated by Anton, yet it had been the only thing Corvo could think to do to make sure he was not seriously hurt.

Now that he was not needed for the time being, he had the chance to think on what Daud had told him. The Geezer was dead – had traded Daud the combination for the chance to finally leave this place behind. Hat’s illness had been no secret, but that it had progressed this far… he thought on Trimble’s cruelty in keeping the old man alive to maintain his empire. And Stride… Corvo shook his head. There was no shortage of unlikely families in Dunwall, he thought as he looked over at Daud, currently refusing to make a sound as Sokolov dabbed ointment onto the wound in his side.

Distracted by Daud’s injury and then by… other things, Corvo had had no time to ask how he was doing. Killing the Geezer because he’d asked for it – Corvo might have done the same thing in his place. Watching Daud’s face, cold now when it had been so expressive before, he recognised how lucky he was for this man to trust him as he did. News of Mortimer Hat’s demise would reach the Tower soon, but it was Corvo who would know how. And he wouldn’t say a word, he knew, as his eyes wandered of their own accord and landed on the strip of skin visible above Daud’s trousers, his muscles tensing as Sokolov continued his work.

Minutes later, Sokolov pronounced the patient ‘a stubborn ox, but he’ll live,’ making Daud roll his eyes. Corvo got up and walked over to them.

“No sign of infection?”

“No, the care he gave the wound, however amateurish, at least kept it clean and dry,” Sokolov grumbled. “Without the thorn, I won’t be able to tell what its properties are, exactly, but I’ve collected blood and some tissue samples.”

“Wait,” Daud said suddenly, twisting around and reaching for his coat. “I found a corpse and pulled this from the wound.” Corvo watched as he unwrapped a handkerchief to reveal a blackened thorn, strains of red still visible. His chest tightened at the thought of the damage one or more of those things could have done to Daud.

“Well, looks like he knows to be useful after all,” Sokolov said as an aside to Corvo, but he was hardly listening. “I’ll take it to the laboratory, perhaps in a few days we’ll have answers for you. Alexandria has a mind for these things. But please, if you will, refrain from any more... excitement tonight. Good night, now.”

Daud didn’t say anything as Sokolov left, and Corvo barely remembered to return the words. Alone once again, he stood next to the bed in a strange sort of déjà-vu.

“Are you alright,” he asked softly. He didn’t only mean the wound.

Daud’s sigh was proof enough that he knew as much. Now that Sokolov was gone, he’d relaxed a little, some of the tension gone from his shoulders, but he wouldn’t yet look at Corvo.

“The Geezer’s dead.”

“Yes,” Corvo said simply.

“He wanted me to do it.”

“I know.” It was strange, to hear a man like Daud ask for reassurance, in however few words, but Corvo was more than willing to grant it.

“I told Lizzy the truth.”

“That’s good.”

“Corvo—” Daud began, but broke off.

Corvo then walked forward and sat down next to him again, regarding his profile. “If you expected judgement, you came to the wrong man.”

“So you keep telling me.” Daud’s head tilted towards him, but he still wouldn’t look at him.

“You did the right thing,” Corvo spoke softly, barely above a whisper, afraid he’d scare Daud off otherwise, send him running down the halls of Dunwall Tower and never see him again.

Daud closed his eyes, what Corvo could see of his expression was pained. "There's something else."

"What is it?"

"I interrogated one of the witches, asked her what Delilah's plans were, why she's holed up at Brigmore," Daud explained eventually.

"Did you get anything out of her?" Corvo didn't want to wonder what... methods of interrogation Daud had resorted to. He could very well imagine what _he_ would have done.

"I did. Corvo, I... I'm not Delilah's target. And neither are you." Daud's eyes were dark, and Corvo thought it might have been sorrow. Dread settled in his chest.

"What did she say?"

"She said that once the change is complete and Delilah sits the secret throne, the coven's reign would last forever," Daud looked up at him. "They're after Emily." Daud waited, as if for a response, but Corvo couldn't speak, couldn't think. "Corvo?"

"What do they mean," he asked hoarsely. "The secret throne?"

"My guess is some kind of ritual," Daud said. "The witch said once it's done, we'd never even know."

Corvo fought not to let his feelings overwhelm him, closed his eyes to shut out the too-bright lights, even Daud's presence. Inside himself, he recognised the familiar hold of fear, of panic, the unconscionable desire to whisk Emily away somewhere safe and never let her out of his sight again; a feeling that perhaps most parents knew and that all had to battle on their own. Corvo knew that his reaction to knowing Emily was in danger would not alter, but that he had to use it — to focus, to find his target, and destroy them.

And he knew where the witch lived. 

He opened his eyes, finding Daud watching him. "So we'll go to Brigmore, and end this. Once and for all."

 

In lieu of an answer, Daud suddenly leaned into his space and laid a kiss against the corner of Corvo’s mouth that was so light and quick he wasn’t sure he’d not imagined it. Daud pulled back, keeping his eyes on Corvo’s, and rasped, “I found something that’s yours.”

Corvo frowned in confusion. “You ‘found’ something?”

“At Coldridge.” Daud turned again, reaching for a different coat pocket this time, and when he twisted back to face Corvo, there was a medal in his hands. A _medal_?

“What is this?”

“Your Naval Commendation. There was a note with it, it said that it was supposed to have been delivered to you after your return from the Isles for your service,” Daud explained. “Of course, with what happened…”

Corvo stared at the thing, lying innocently in Daud’s massive palm. He swallowed. “Where did you—”

“When I left the guards on top of the walkway by the cell door controls. It was just there, sitting on a crate, along with some more money and munitions. I wasn’t even paying attention until I saw your name engraved on it. I nearly dropped it on your head,” Daud admitted with one of his rare smiles. When Corvo made no move to take it, Daud simply grasped one of his hands, pressed the medal into his palm, and curled his fingers around it with his own. “It’s yours. And no matter what they did to you, or what they said about you while you were gone, or what they think of you now, you deserve it. You're a street kid from Karnaca, and you saved the Empire from ruin. Never let _them_ forget that.”

Looking down at their joined hands, Corvo felt tears prick at his eyes. How did he do that, how did he go from distant to… _this_ within mere seconds? Even more than Daud’s manner, or the frank admiration in his eyes, it was his words that overwhelmed Corvo, reached right into his chest and squeezed his heart.

There were things he could not say, _would_ not say, but as his heartbeat echoed in his own ears, there was something he could.

“Stay with me,” he whispered without looking up.

“Corvo…”

“My side’s the left. I want to be sure you’re alright. And I—I don’t—” _I don’t want to be alone tonight._

“Fine,” Daud spared him having to say it. “I’ll stay.”

Pulling away, his hand slipping from Daud’s, Corvo stood and went over to put the medal on his desk.

“I’ll go change,” he said over his shoulder, then quickly made his way to the small bathroom that abutted his quarters.

He undressed quickly and changed into the pyjamas that had been laid out for him, too exhausted to take the time to bathe, and suspecting that Daud wouldn’t care if he did. He used the toilet, brushed his teeth, washed his face and, staring at the tired man in the mirror, hoped that he wouldn’t find his rooms empty when he returned.

Corvo left the light on when he stepped out and barely dared to raise his eyes to the bed, but the sight that greeted him when he did was enough to stop him in his tracks.

Daud, down to his torn white shirt and trousers, sitting on top of the covers on the right side of the bed with his legs and bare feet tucked underneath him, elbows on his knees, his hands – his gloveless hands clasped loosely. At Corvo’s approach, he looked up, his face… not calm, but steady. Determined, as Daud always was.

Sending him a small smile, Corvo pointed over his shoulder at the bathroom. “Do you need to..?”

Daud shook his head, but didn’t speak. Corvo went back and killed the lights in the bath, then the ones overhead, casting them in darkness. Or almost, as Daud had lit one of the lanterns on Corvo’s nightstand. Walking closer, Corvo tried to keep in mind what he had asked, even as the thought of spending the night next to Daud sent so many conflicting emotions through him it was impossible to keep track.

He lifted the covers on his side and slipped into bed, sitting up in a mirror of Daud’s position. When he looked over, there was a small smile tugging on the corner of Daud’s mouth.

“Good night, Corvo,” he murmured, and Corvo too had to smile. They’d bid each other good night nearly every day now for a year, and so what if now they didn’t go to separate rooms? Even in light of what was between them, this was about their safety most of all – Daud’s safety; and even if what had happened earlier was new, they’d been looking out for each other for a long time now.

“Good night, Daud.” With that, Corvo turned and extinguished the light, lying down with his back to Daud, doing so not to shut Daud out but to give him privacy, which he hoped Daud understood but didn’t have the words to tell him. He curled into his pillow to get comfortable, trying to think not only of the last time he had shared a bed with anyone — with Jess. He had loved her so much, and still did, but that didn't change how he felt about Daud's steady presence at his back. Behind him, the covers rustled as Daud slipped underneath them. His injury meant he would have to sleep on his back or on his side facing Corvo, and when Daud exhaled deeply and Corvo felt his breath brush over his neck, he knew which choice he’d made; and for the first time since returning to the Tower, Corvo didn't toss and turn before falling asleep.

***

He slept better than he thought he could, sharing a bed with someone he’d never known so close before, but it was as though Daud’s determination extended to making sure Corvo felt as safe as he could make him. It was Corvo’s alarm that woke them both, set to just after dawn. When he moved to turn it off, Corvo realised that there was a familiar weight on his other arm, flung out a little to the right. Turning his head, the first thing he saw was Daud, mostly on his front, turning his face into the pillow with a grunt, protesting the early hour; the second, Daud’s fingers curled around his forearm just beneath the elbow, barely holding on but undeniably _there_.

“Hrmpf,” Daud grunted again, and Corvo couldn’t help it. He grinned.

“Morning,” he made sure Daud knew he was awake, and cleared his throat as his voice was rough from sleep.

It was then that Daud stilled and his shoulders tensed, the fingers of his right hand lifting from Corvo’s arm by just the fraction of an inch as if he was getting ready to snatch it back. Still muddled with sleep but quite clear on that being unacceptable, Corvo put his left hand swiftly on top of Daud’s, trapping him. He was still smiling when Daud lifted his head to glare at him, and it only grew when he realised the disarray of Daud’s normally so perfectly kempt hair.

“Stop that,” Daud commanded, his voice rough and stern, entirely unmatched with the way his fingers relaxed in Corvo’s hold. Corvo must have looked smug, because Daud rolled his eyes. “The least she could’ve done was to warn me you'd be like this in the mornings,” he grumbled, and Corvo’s heart skipped a beat. Clearly, freshly woken Daud's tongue was looser than one would expect, he thought as he blinked at him. Slowly realising what he’d said, Daud clenched his jaw. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s alright,” Corvo interrupted him before Daud could retreat into his shell for the day. _Not yet_ , he thought. _Stay with me a moment longer,_ willing Daud to understand.

Daud withdrew. “I shouldn't have,” he told him with an indecipherable look, fast transforming into the Daud who bossed around his Whalers and argued with him about entry points. Then, he did retrieve his hand from underneath Corvo’s, turned on his back with a wince, and waved his other hand in the general direction of the bathroom.

“May I?”

Corvo nodded. Daud got out of bed and padded, barefoot, across the room. Once the door was closed behind him and Corvo heard water running, he let his head fall forward and sighed.

*

As it was, they were getting dressed – Daud, in his clothes from the night before, in the bathroom, and Corvo in fresh things behind the screen next to his bed – when someone knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” Corvo called with a glance at the bathroom door.

“Corvo, it’s me,” Emily answered, and he breathed a sigh of relief – not merely because she’d taken Callista’s reprimands to knock to heart.

“Come in, Em,” he said both for her and Daud’s benefit.

The door opened and closed. “Callista says I have to be down for breakfast with the Tyvians in ten minutes, but I wanted to see you first. Did you hear from Daud yesterday?”

Corvo was about to answer in the affirmative when he heard her gasp. Peering around the screen to see if something was wrong, he found her staring at the red coat draped across the back of one of the visitors’ chairs. Corvo’s stomach dropped.

“He’s here?” Emily stared at Corvo hopefully.

“I, uh—”

“I’m here, Emily,” Daud emerged from the bathroom fully dressed – except for his coat and belt – his shirt looking even worse in daylight and the way it was tucked into the waist of his trousers so properly. He could see the bandage through the tear. “Corvo offered me to wash up in here, since there are so many people around today.”

Realising he was staring, Corvo ducked back behind the screen and finished buttoning up his vest, his thoughts racing.

“See, I told you the room would come in handy,” Emily declared smugly, and Corvo’s eyes widened at the same time as Daud coughed.

“So you did,” Daud told her with admirable calm.

 _Nothing happened,_ Corvo told himself. _Nothing happened, and besides, she is yet so innocent, she wouldn’t think about… any of that._ Corvo clamped down on the thoughts reminding him that he couldn't say the same for himself. Last night had been innocent, sharing comfort and making sure Daud was safe, but Corvo could not claim remaining unaffected by the sight of Daud beneath his sheets this morning. And he knew Daud would feel guilty for what he'd said about Jess, but the truth was — she _would_ have warned Daud about that, Corvo thought with a sad smile twisting at his mouth.

“Will you still be here in three minutes?” Emily asked suddenly.

“I suppose so,” Daud answered slowly.

“Don’t move.”

Corvo was just tucking the screen back into the corner when he saw her leave the room at a near run. He was going to call after her, but the door shuttered behind her before he could. Across the room, Daud caught his gaze.

“What?”

Corvo shrugged. “Don’t look at me, it’s you she told to stay,” he teased, some corner of his mind bright with wonder at how… easy this seemed to be, and how, apart from having woken up together, not altogether different from their banter at the Hound Pits, or even before, at the Chamber.

“Like a hound,” Daud rumbled, and then he rolled his eyes at himself when he realised that he was still standing in the same spot Emily’d left him in, and Corvo couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up inside him at that, besting his apprehension.

Daud threw him a look as if he didn't know whether to be proud he made him laugh or to feel sorry for Corvo for being so easily amused (at Daud comparing himself to a dog, no less). He took a few decisive steps forward and reached for his coat. Holding it up to inspect the damage, he sighed, then put it on, securing his belt and blade as Corvo watched; unaware of the turmoil in Corvo’s chest. "Then again, this is better than when she was scared of me."

The door opened again and Emily was back, slightly out of breath. She bounded up to Corvo to hug him good morning, then turned back to Daud. As she did, Corvo saw her quickly hide something behind her back.

“I made something—for you,” Emily told Daud, abruptly shy, and then she drew what she’d hidden from behind her back and gave it to him.

Stepping closer slowly, not wanting to intrude, Corvo craned his neck a little and realised that Daud was holding a drawing. A portrait, of a man with a scar over his eye, and wearing a red coat. ‘Daud,’ it said at the top in Emily’s colourful crayon handwriting.

“I started it at the pub, but I didn’t finish it until after we left, and I didn’t—I didn’t know if you would want—”

“Thank you,” Daud’s voice sounded close to breaking and Corvo looked up in surprise, his heart giving no warning before it ached for the man in front of him. Corvo watched as Daud hesitantly raised his hand and, when Emily didn’t budge, set it on her head, stroking his thumb over her hair just once. “Thank you.”

Just then, another knock. Corvo was ready to send whoever it was to the Void for interrupting, but then Callista’s voice came through the door.

“Emily, it’s time for breakfast.”

Emily’s head whirled around to look at Corvo, and she winced a little as her hair caught on Daud’s glove as he snatched back his hand as if burnt.

“Just a moment, I’m coming,” she called and ran to the door, opening it before Callista could and blocking the doorway. Like this, Callista could see only Corvo standing by his bed, and he nodded at her in greeting.

“Good morning, Corvo. Come on, Emily,” she said and took her charge’s hand, leading her from the room. As she closed the door behind herself, Emily turned to grin at Corvo.

Corvo almost didn’t dare to look back to Daud, but curiosity and concern won out eventually. He found him rooted to the spot, the drawing still in his hands, a peculiar expression on his face.

“Daud—”

“I need to go.” Quickly but no less carefully, Daud folded the drawing and then tucked it into a pocket inside his coat.

“Daud,” Corvo tried again, but he shook his head.

“They’ll be wondering where I am. I’ll be back in a few days to talk about the Undine,” Daud told him, their eyes not quite meeting.

“Alright,” Corvo conceded, reining in his exasperation and worry.

Without another word, Daud made for the window, leaving Corvo standing where he was, only to turn on his heel and march back towards him. Corvo didn’t move a muscle, stunned as all Daud did was stretch up and press a brief kiss against his lips. Then, he vanished, leaving behind the taste of the Void. Corvo didn’t even see his Transversal to the window.

*

Corvo was almost pathetically grateful at the way that the day that followed was nowhere as tumultuous as the morning that had preceded it. The trade delegation met with Emily’s staff advisors after breakfast, continuing their talks well beyond lunch. Jameson was visiting the Tower today, meaning Emily herself would be distracted, glad for her friend keeping her company through her lessons. The boy had improved over the past few weeks – not only in that he looked healthier. Corvo hadn’t been wrong in his speculation about how he was doing after surviving the Plague for so long on his own. He was skittish, shied away from people he did not know, and Geoff had told him that he’d requested to sleep with a small lantern next to his bed that he kept lit most nights.

Corvo felt for him, and before she’d seen Jameson again for the first time, he had impressed upon Emily the importance of letting him decide for himself which games or stories scared him and which didn’t. She’d promised to do so, and Corvo’s heart had eased when, reunited with his childhood friend – Empress now, too – Jameson had relaxed enough for them to sit on the sofa in the library side by side, reading one of Emily’s favourite books. Corvo didn’t know whether Jameson would ever be truly rid of his dark memories, but he knew Emily would be determined to help her friend in whatever way she could, and in that moment he’d been so proud of her.

Following their first conversation about him, Daud had sometimes enquired after the boy, wariness in his voice when he’d learnt that Callista was present when they played, but no guards. His protectiveness moved Corvo, but he’d told him he was sure in his assessment of Jameson, and so that had been that.

Jameson, coincidentally, had also expressed an interest in Corvo’s work as Spymaster, asking lots of questions whenever Corvo joined them in the library with reports or files, and Corvo was happy to answer him. Jameson had always been clever and quick-witted, and although he was markedly more reserved now, he had clearly used those wits to get by after his parents had died.

The next day, Kieron arrived with a letter, delivered directly instead of passed to Rinaldo and then secreted away into the Tower’s incoming mail.

“Lord Corvo,” the Whaler greeted him as he poked his head through the window of Corvo’s quarters. He didn’t jump, but it was a near thing.

“Kieron,” Corvo returned the greeting, after so long more than able to tell the Whalers’ muffled voices from each other as well as their un-muffled ones.

“Daud gave me this,” Kieron transversed towards the desk, holding out a folded note for Corvo to take.

“Thank you,” Corvo accepted the note and stalled. “Is—is he well?”

Kieron nodded. “The wound is healing fine. I’m sure it’s all in there, though,” he said good-naturedly, indicating the letter. “Do you have anything for me? Letters, scouting orders?” he asked as if he were a grocer offering he take some more canned eels.

Corvo bit back a laugh. “No, thank you, Kieron.”

“Alright,” Kieron shrugged, then waved and vanished the way he’d come.

Corvo shook his head at the young man’s antics, then opened the letter, refusing to be anxious about its contents.

> _Corvo —_
> 
> _The Undine is all but ready. Lizzy’s crew are getting used to working with nine fingers – or eight, in the case of Annabelle. Considering that she treats her harpoon as an extension of her own arm, I’m sure she doesn’t mind._
> 
> _Stride herself insists that they have to run a few jobs first, to re-establish the Undine on the waters and, to avoid suspicion, we shouldn’t be on board the first time she uses her writ to get past the blockade again. It delays our plans, but not overly so, and I say we give her leave. She reckons a month will suffice; we need at least two more weeks until we are ready to begin with. Rulfio is working on procuring the plans to the Manor, and the others are investigating potential witches’ hide-outs across the city. Any information that we collect there will help us against Delilah._
> 
> _Another reason I write is that Aedan and Quinn had a run-in with two members of the Bottle Street Gang in the Distillery District. Nothing happened – that is, they didn’t start a fight. They asked for our help, and have asked that I pass this request on to you as well. Slackjaw has been missing for four days, and they can’t find him._
> 
> _Before you can bother Kieron with questions about my health: I am well. The wound is closing as it should, and there’s no sign of infection._
> 
> _As for my abrupt departure yesterday morning — I was taken by surprise, and there aren’t a lot of things left in this world that can. Or people, for that matter. You and Emily prove the exception, and although I like to think that there’s not much I’ll run from, a crayon drawing of my own face, apparently, will do it. I hope I remembered to thank her. Did I thank her?_
> 
> _I’ll see you at the usual time the day after tomorrow,_
> 
> _Daud_

Trying to wrap his head around the unusually long letter, Corvo allowed himself a smile at Daud’s explanation of why he’d hurried away the day before – much as he had suspected what had sent Daud running for the hills, he was nonetheless glad for the confirmation that he was alright; that _they_ were alright.

***

Before they saw each other again, however, two pieces of news reached him that had vastly conflicting implications.

When Daud did clamber through his window around noon two days later, he led with the bad news.

“Teague Martin is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Basically, Daud has just been told twice in less than 12 hours that he’s family to Corvo and Emily, and it’s enough to break him. Have some pity on the poor man.  
> b) My friend was screaming at me to let them tear each other's clothes off already. Me: NOPE GOTTA COCKBLOCK. You're welcome.  
> c) Daud's signature awkward head pat is so... Daud, you dumb butt, you already have like 45278 kids.


	10. Who for his greed, who for his hunger (Daud)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teague Martin's dead, and Corvo has a savior complex. Daud indulges him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alllllright so: Teague bit the dust, and now Corvo sets out to find out how and, if he can, save Slackjaw. Daud is coming, too, but he's gonna complain the whole way there.
> 
> This week's soundtrack: [Same For You](https://youtu.be/Z8b0leA1EfY).
> 
> I'm staying in London for a couple of days, meeting up with a friend and doing nerd stuff, hence the early update!
> 
> Your positive reactions to the last chapter sustained me through this really exhausting work week, thank you all so much! xoxo

_Daud had seen the danger, had seen it and then decided, apparently, to walk right into it. And with witches, generally, that seemed the right approach._

_Not so with his own feelings._

_When he returned to the Hound Pits pub the morning after tangling with the witches in Drapers Ward, the morning after sleeping in Corvo’s bed, he immediately shed his ruined coat and shirt, then stood in his room, half-dressed, part of him itching for a bath. He contemplated the clothes on his bed. He could give them to Wallace to be mended, but then, sometimes, an assassin’s garb was just beyond saving._

_The truth was, the scent of Corvo’s sheets clung to him, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to stay._

* * *

“How?” Daud had heard rumblings, but received no confirmation, so to learn from Corvo now that Martin was really dead was no shock, but difficult to hear nonetheless. He walked over to the desk, sitting down heavily in one of the chairs.

“The Abbey isn’t releasing the body, nor any particulars,” Corvo answered.

Daud shrugged. That, in and of itself, wasn’t unusual. The Abbey had their own mausoleum for notable High Overseers – off-limits to one such as Teague Martin, to be sure – and their own graveyard near the North end of the city. When Brothers fell, they weren’t usually handed over into the care of the city’s coroner.

“Will they accept an inspection?”

Corvo shook his head. “The Ascending Circle is getting ready to call for the Feast. They won’t be letting anyone from outside their ranks even close to Holger Square; and I don’t like to force the issue, not now.”

That, Daud thought, was understandable. The Abbey had it in for them, that much was no surprise, and to those close to the office of the High Overseer, it couldn’t have been a secret that he and Corvo had engineered Martin’s ascension. Rumours were circulating about the Royal Protector even now, when Martin’s position should have protected them. Whoever took over next, they would have to be wary.

“You think he’s been assassinated,” Daud didn’t have to ask.

“Don’t you? It wasn’t in a fair fight, that’s for sure.”

“They could’ve branded him a heretic to get rid of him, if it hadn’t been so soon after Campbell.”

Corvo hummed. “The question is, how badly do we want to know?” he asked, and Daud narrowed his eyes at him.

“What are you scheming, Attano?” Daud growled, biting down a grin when his suspicion startled a laugh out of Corvo.

“I was thinking we could pay them a little visit,” Corvo said, all innocence.

Daud leaned forward, arms crossed and elbows on the desk. “You what?”

“We’ve broken into Holger Square before, and security has been relaxed under Martin.”

“They’re going to pick right back up where Campbell left off even before he’s properly cold, and you know it,” Daud countered. “What’s your play? Even if we never find out how Martin died, what’ll happen is that they’ll choose a new High Overseer, and we’re going to have to make our peace with it, you said so yourself. Why risk everything to get a look at the last one’s dead body?”

Corvo tilted his head, now clearly amused, if grimly so. Daud searched his gaze, running through the possibilities. Finally, he understood.

“You want to go toe to toe with his successor. Corvo, that’s madness,” Daud exclaimed, forgetting for a moment to keep his voice down, scowling when Corvo made a placating gesture with his hands.

“Whoever follows him, if they know I can get agents into Holger Square without anyone knowing, they’ll be more accommodating.”

“Or they’ll try and have you arrested for heresy on their third day in office,” Daud said, quieter now for fear of anyone outside hearing them. “Void!”

“I want to know how Martin died. I want to know what they did to him,” Corvo insisted, something else in his expression now. Daud blinked.

“You feel responsible,” he realised. Of course he did. Daud resisted the impulse to rub at his brow. He did that often enough these days, but never more so than when Corvo refused to leave well enough alone.

“We put him there.”

“He knew it would be dangerous.”

“With more time, he might have been able to get out.”

“If he wanted to run, he could have done so months ago,” Daud said roughly. “You can’t save everyone, Corvo.”

Corvo stubbornly held his gaze. “I can try.”

The worst of it was, that determination was precisely why Daud would put his life into this man’s hands without a second thought.

Daud sighed. “Fine.”

At his acquiescence, Corvo leaned back in his chair, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We don’t know what’s left of him,” Daud warned him gruffly, but it was useless to deny that his manner softened when Corvo looked at him like that. Void, when had he become so predictable.

“There’s something else,” Corvo said then.

“Of course there is,” Daud dismissed his concerned tone, lifting that hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “What?”

“A contingent of Overseers from Tyvia and the surrounding islands arrived just this morning. I haven’t been able to determine whether Martin sent for them or, if not, then who did; or if they weren’t actually sent by anyone. They did travel separately from the trade delegation.”

“If Martin sent for them, they’re in danger.” _And if he didn’t, we might be_ , Daud didn’t have to say.

“All the more reason to get into Holger Square, and find out.”

In his mind, Daud was already running through possible approaches, reports from Whaler patrols from the past five nights, gossip overheard on the streets, in servant circles, from drunk guards in the taverns late at night. So many ways to get into Holger Square, but so few of them truly undetectable even after the fact. They couldn’t afford to leave even a shred of evidence behind this time – the last time, the “evidence” had been a two-hundred pound man with a heretic’s brand burnt into his cheek.

“We’re going to have to move quickly,” Daud said once he’d decided on about three different ways this could be handled. “And by the look on your face, I’m assuming you’ll want to go tonight,” he finished, resigned.

Corvo nodded. “They’ll not want to keep his body around for long. The quicker we find him, the better.” He paused. “Have you heard anything that could lead us to Slackjaw?”

Daud raised a brow. “Should you like to save him as well?” He was only mostly teasing – much as Slackjaw had been a (figurative) pain in his side during the Pendleton job, Corvo liked the man for some confounded reason.

Corvo had the grace to look sheepish. “I know he can take care of himself, but it’s not like him to disappear for days on end – the fact that his men approached yours should tell us that.”

Daud indicated grudging agreement. They had warned Slackjaw of Granny Rags’ involvement in his man Crowley’s death in the meantime. Corvo had insisted they’d sat on the secret long enough, and Daud had reluctantly agreed that it was time to hand over what they knew. With Emily safely back at the Tower, his reservations in potentially sparking gang-versus-witch conflict, even if the Distillery District was half-way across the city, pertained mostly to his Whalers getting drawn into a fight they had no part in; and that was hardly any different from the Dead Eels’ street war with the Hatters. As such, Slackjaw’s disappearance spelt trouble any way they sliced it.

“Do they have any idea where he could have gone?”

Daud shrugged. “Aedan and Quinn didn’t say, so either they don't know or didn’t mention it. They didn’t have much time to talk, there was City Watch crawling all over the streets and they had to get out of there pretty quickly.”

Corvo made a face. “So we’re going in blind.”

“And that’s news to anyone?” Daud responded with a smirk, then he sighed. “We won’t find him, anyway. What are the odds that, if the witch has him, we’ll just fall into her lap as well?”

***

Daud stayed at the Tower for the remainder of the afternoon, summoning Kieron from his surveillance spot on top of the water lock to send him back to the Hound Pits with instructions and handing command over to Thomas and Rulfio. Emily, who visited Corvo after her lessons as she usually did, grinned when she saw him, but Daud didn’t miss how pale she was, dark circles under her eyes to rival her father’s.

Coming to stand next to the chair he was sitting in, she lightly set her hand on his arm again, holding on carefully. “Hello, Daud.”

“Emily,” he bowed his head in greeting. He was aware of Corvo watching them, but refused to look over, focusing on the Empress at his side instead. The drawing she’d given him had found a place among his books and logs, hidden, though sloppily; and any Whaler with at least one good eye could see the crayon-coloured edges peek out from the shelf behind his desk. No-one had said anything, however, content to leave him be, and Daud had likewise pretended not to notice the drawings of pirate Whalers and wolfhounds pinned to the walls of the pub’s servants’ quarters and dorm shortly after.

“How were your lessons today?” he asked, if only because, in a roundabout way, he would have asked his novices the same after not seeing them all day.

Contrary to his expectations, however, she brightened at the question. “It was fun! I went down to the laboratory, and Piero and Alexandria showed me some of their experiments. I really like Doctor Hypatia, she’s very kind. And she’s from Serkonos, like Corvo!”

“I know,” Daud nodded.

“Have you ever been to Serkonos?”

Daud hesitated, searching her face but finding only curiosity, concluding that she truly did not know. “I was born in Karnaca.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “You were?”

“Yes, just like your bodyguard here,” Daud now attempted to draw Corvo into the conversation with the jibe.

Before Corvo could say anything, there was a near frantic knock on the door.

“Lord Attano!” Simmons.

Exchanging a glance with Corvo, Daud sat up, squaring his shoulders. Looking between them, Emily inched closer to him.

“What is it,” Corvo called as he got up and walked towards the door to open it before the young guard could burst in.

“Overseers, sir, unannounced. One of the new guards, Rinaldo, came up to tell me.”

Shit. Daud gritted his teeth, keeping his face impassive for Emily’s sake, who was now holding onto him with both hands.

“They’re on their way up to see you. Do you want us to intercept them?”

“Yes, I'll speak to them in the library. Give me a minute.”

“Of course.”

Corvo closed the door behind himself, then came marching back towards them.

Not waiting for another moment, Daud turned to look at Emily, whose wide eyes were glued to her father.

“Emily,” he said quietly. Turning to him, she looked so pale and frightened as he’d only seen her once. Moving swiftly, he pulled his arm from her grip, then curled it around her back instead, pulling her up with him as he stood. Understanding what he meant to do, she held onto his shoulders without question. With an instinct he didn’t know he possessed, he tucked his free hand under her knee to settle her on his hip, all the while moving towards Corvo.

Their eyes met, the set of Corvo’s mouth grim and determined, and Daud wished more than anything to kiss him. Instead, he tightened his hold on Emily. Daud was not one to dither, but just then he was caught in a rare moment of indecision. He shifted Emily in his arms, and she clung tighter.

“Why did they come here?” Her voice was fearful, much as she tried to hide it.

Corvo's eyes cut to his, and Daud jerked his chin at the door. He'd explain it to her, but Corvo needed to get going.

"Do you want me to take her?" he asked.

"Take me where?" Emily cried in alarm and Corvo set a gentle hand on her cheek to shush her.

"Daud and I agreed that, in an emergency, he'd take you back to the Hound Pits. But I don't think that will be necessary now," Corvo reassured her.

"You sure?" Daud would ask only once.

"I'm sure. I've got a feeling we might find out more about that delegation from Tyvia than we thought."

Daud frowned. "Wouldn't a delegation announce itself?"

"Does the Abbey ever play by our rules?" Corvo returned as a rhetorical question.

"Fine. But keep Simmons and Rinaldo with you. If there are Overseers in the building, Montgomery and Jenkins will stay close but out of sight," Daud reiterated the contingency they'd gone over so many times in planning Corvo and Emily's return to the Tower.

"It'll be alright." Corvo pressed a kiss to Emily's forehead. "It'll be alright," he repeated for her benefit. He raised his eyes to Daud's, not looking away as he took a deep breath.

"Go," Daud told him before either of them might do something foolish. "We'll be here."

Corvo nodded, squared his shoulders, then turned and made to leave the room when Daud caught sight of his left hand, the Mark barely covered by the wrist strap. Well enough to fool guards who didn't see him as a threat and maids who found his face more handsome than his hands, but not Overseers from any of the Isles.

"Gloves?" Daud called towards Corvo's retreating back.

Without turning, Corvo acknowledged him by patting his left coat pocket. Then, the door closed behind him. With Emily in his arms, Daud stood in the middle of the room, staring.

"What happened?" Emily broke the silence first.

“Teague Martin is dead,” Daud decided not to beat about the bush. “We got the news this morning.”

“Oh,” Emily said softly. “That’s sad.”

“Yes,” Daud grunted with only minimal sarcasm. Personally, his opinion of Teague Martin the highwayman wasn’t all that different from his opinion of Teague Martin, High Overseer, but as it was, Martin’s demise _was_ a loss. One they could ill afford.

“I was scared the first time he came to the Tower,” Emily told him. “Corvo told me you picked him, but—”

“I didn’t pick him,” Daud felt compelled to tell her. “I made a suggestion and Corvo took me up on it.”

“Then you picked him together.”

“The pickings were slim,” Daud rumbled, the involuntary turn of phrase making Emily giggle; but she returned to being serious just as he crossed the room and made to set her down on the settee by the hearth, her next words freezing him in place.

“I asked him why he didn’t protect us from the attack at the Hound Pits pub.”

Daud swallowed. “And what did he say?”

“He said he didn’t know. Corvo said he was telling the truth.”

“He was,” Daud finally moved to let her go. When she was settled, he turned and told himself it would be counter-productive to start pacing up and down while they waited.

“And if he wasn’t?” Emily asked the question as perhaps only a child could, and even as he believed that there was not an inch of chaos in her, her tone chilled him to the bone. Turning his head, he saw that she was looking straight at him, unflinching. Corvo, Daud, and the Whalers, they spoke of what happened as an attack, or the ‘Surge.’ Emily doing so, even in private… she was taking a side, the _Crown_ was taking a side, and what happened in the next few weeks would shape Dunwall’s relationship with the Abbey as much as whatever Corvo was doing right now.

Daud refused to wonder if they were arresting Corvo for heresy, because once he did, there would be no holding him back from tearing down that corridor with steel in his hand. He could, he could summon Jenkins and Montgomery to stay with Emily and take Rinaldo with him to fight – Daud cut off his own thoughts, realising he’d been clenching his fist in preparation. Pulling away from the call of the Void, he forced himself to take a deep breath.

“He was,” he asserted simply.

Emily didn’t say anything. When Daud did start pacing, wearing down the rug, she quietly said his name. He stopped.

“I know where Corvo keeps his weapons.”

He tilted his head. “Alright.”

When he didn’t move, she sighed. “That means, ‘I would like for you to sit with me while we wait,’” she explained, not unkindly.

“Ah.” Slowly, he moved to sit next to her, holding himself very still. Getting her away from immediate danger was simple – this, however… Daud was no father figure; and now, the Empress of the Isles wanted him to ‘sit with her.’ Had hugged him, too, and drawn him a picture of his face in uneven strokes, even though he possessed none of her Corvo's easy grace in the face of affection, nor, at his age (and even when he was young) some of the Whalers’ propensity for games.

 _Corvo would know what to do_ , he thought. Daud did not know what to do.

It turned out that the Empress of the Isles knew him well enough to do the heavy lifting for them both, and so when he sat down a respectable distance away, she scooted closer and settled into his side, her head resting against his arm.

“Thank you,” she said simply, as if he’d done anything to help at all.

The minutes ticked by, time slowing to a crawl without interference from the Void. Daud itched to do something — anything — but he stayed put. He recalled (the newly re-instated) Admiral Havelock saying once that Corvo’s ‘loyalty to the Kaldwin women’ might be clouding his judgement. As he sat here now, his skin crawling with barely contained impatience, Daud wondered if he shouldn’t have been included in that warning.

“I want to ask Corvo to train me,” Emily then told him as if she were commenting on the weather.

“Train you,” he repeated although he didn’t need to be omniscient to know what she meant.

“Like you do your Whalers, like Corvo does the Watch recruits.”

“Those two are not the same,” he issued the correction. “Whalers are trained to kill. Officers are trained to protect.”

“The Whalers protected me.”

“Because I told them to.”

“An officer shot my mother.”

“Because Burrows told him to.”

“So everyone just does as they’re told?” she accused, lifting her head and looking up at him, and he knew her eyes to be so much like her father’s in her indignation.

“I did. For a long time.” There was no bitterness in saying it, but the sooner she learnt this about him, the better.

“What made you stop?”

Daud was silent for a long moment. “Your mother.” He was expecting that to be that, but her next question threw him completely.

“Did you love her?” The pain in her voice was overbearing even to him, but she seemed determined to understand him better – again, so much like Corvo.

He blinked, stunned. Why would she—he barely had an answer for her, except this one: “I respected her. And I suppose… I liked her, though I knew her very little.”

“And Corvo?”

“He’ll always love her, you must know that,” Daud said quietly, painfully aware that they’d never actually named Corvo her father in front of her, and never where anyone else could hear, not even at the pub. Callista still referred to Corvo by his name or as her Lord Protector even when it was just the four of them. Not even he and Corvo had ever truly discussed it.

“No, I mean—”

Daud was saved from more questions by a noise from outside. His Void Gaze revealed the silhouette of a man moving down the corridor – and it was not Corvo.

“Stay behind me.” Twisting his wrist, he armed a sleep dart; his other hand on the hilt of his blade, he stood and put himself between her and the door, muscles coiling.

Adrenaline surged through him, as it always would, and he tamped it down, like he always did, tamed it and put it to good use. His hackles rose when he felt Emily’s small hand on his back, gripping his coat. He clenched his fist, his Mark illuminating the room, magic spiking.

“Your Highness?” A reedy voice called from behind the shelf. “It’s Simmons. Lord Corvo has requested that wait for him for another ten minutes. He is currently accompanying the Overseer delegation outside.”

“Have they threatened him? Are they taking him?” Daud threw caution to the wind, his blood pumping too fast to care whether Simmons knew he was there.

“No, sir,” Simmons, to his credit, answered without hesitation. He wasn’t as stupid as he was young, then. “It is merely a courtesy.”

“Fine. Return to your post,” Daud ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

Daud watched as Simmons turned back, then slowly willed himself to relax, at least minutely. Making sure that Simmons really was outside and no-one else out of place, Daud didn’t pace as they waited for Corvo to return, forcing himself to stay close to where Emily sat twisting the hem of her dress between her fingers.

“What's so important about that delegation?” Emily asked, turning to look up at him where he was leaning against the wall.

“A group of Overseers arrived, travelling separately from the trade delegation,” he told her, marvelling absently at how easy it was to _report_ to her in Corvo’s stead. “We were going to try and find out what’s their purpose in the city tonight.” And whether they had anything to do with Martin’s death or not, a group of Overseers just turning up at the Tower without notice did _not_ inspire confidence.

He got no further in puzzling this as he felt the tug on his Mark that he had come to associate with Corvo, and then there was a knock on the door.

“It’s me.”

Emily jumped up from the chair at the same time as Daud pushed off the wall and, longer legs or no, they arrived at the door at about the same time. Daud unlocked and opened it, staying out of sight from Simmons, mostly out of principle, as Corvo entered and picked up Emily in his arms, and as Daud watched as some of the worry eased from Corvo’s face and Emily hid her face against her father’s shoulder, the Void inside him settled, too.

He was in for a surprise, however, when Corvo let go of Emily with one hand and put it on his shoulder instead, squeezing tightly.

“Thank you.”

“It’s what I promised,” was all he could think to say, and was startled when Corvo’s gaze darkened. Clearing his throat, his eyes shifted to Emily, who was looking at him now too. Needing to focus to anything that wasn’t the way Corvo was staring at him, his attention was once again drawn to the signs of sleeplessness on her face.

In Dunwall, things were always tangled up like a bag of snakes.

*

Hours later, the Empress was safely tucked away in her rooms, Rinaldo standing guard with a face like thunder, just daring even the maids to get too close. Daud would reprimand him if his mood didn’t mirror the look in the young Whaler’s eyes – and if he weren’t currently occupied digesting the information Corvo had just relayed to him.

“They’re _concerned_?” he questioned, perhaps for the fifth time.

“Tyvia is overrun with corruption, and there are rumblings of a coup; more importantly, rumours that this coup may have ties leading back to Dunwall,” Corvo explained, not for the first time either. “When the news arrived that Martin’s authority was slipping, they got on a ship in the hopes of lending support, but they didn’t think they’d get here just in time to bury him.”

Daud wanted to put his head in his hands. This… was too much. The witches, Brigmore, the Abbey out from under their thumb, Slackjaw missing… Daud was _tired_ , and that only warred with his relief that the surprise visit that morning hadn’t been Overseers armed with Music Boxes poised to arrest Corvo and drag him away while Emily screamed.

“What can we do?”

“I don’t know. The Abbey needs a new High Overseer, and Tyvia… look, the talks with their trade delegation went fairly well. But if what Overseer Khulan said about an attempted coup is true, and if Dunwall has anything to do with it... I dread to consider the consequences.”

“We’re stretched thin as it is,” Daud reminded him. He knew that the constant mistrust in the Crown’s own agents and the Watch were wearing Corvo down, but there was nothing he could do to change that, so he did what he could do – remind him why it was necessary. “Is there anyone you would truly be willing to send to Dabokva before the blockade comes down?”

Corvo weighed his head. “One or two. I know this is the worst possible time, but we can’t sit here and do nothing. Jess and I were blindsided by what Burrows was planning, and I can’t imagine there aren’t more nasty surprises like this brewing all over the Empire. If Emily is to be the ruler of four nations… Before I left, Jess told me we needed to do better. She was right.”

Daud looked down at his hands. He couldn’t argue with that. Not even if he’d wanted to.

***

On top of everything else that had already happened, they still had to get to Holger Square; and thankfully, Samuel was able to ferry them along the river. Even if the mystery of the Overseers from Tyvia had miraculously resolved itself, there was still the _small_ matter of Teague Martin’s death. Daud hesitated to call it an assassination before seeing the body, but Martin himself had practically predicted it.

Holger Square was, simply put, a mess. A rigorous, impeccably organised one, but a mess nonetheless. Even as not one boot fell out of step in watch rotations, prayer, and preparations to convene the Ascending Circle, Daud caught snatches of hushed conversations whispered between Brothers tidying their lockers or over a bowl of stew; conversations that ceased as soon as anyone came near. Overseers were said never to panic and never to retreat, and they didn’t do so tonight.

But they were still frightened. And some of them, underneath those masks, some of them – were still human.

Corvo appeared at his side when he’d said he would, leaning close to whisper in his ear: “His body is in the interrogation room.”

Daud turned to look at him. “I heard tell he died of Tyvian poison. In his _sleep_ ,” he whispered back.

Corvo remained silent as an Overseer passed their hiding spot underneath a flight of stairs. Once the guard had passed, he shrugged, a perfunctory gesture given that Daud couldn’t see his face, but Daud read it well enough.

Stranger things had happened, indeed; news of which generally travelled fast and tended to take a few wrong turns along the way.

*

Not even Rinaldo’s imagination could have come up with _this_ , Daud decided when they’d finally made their way into the interrogation room. The cloying memories fighting towards the surface at being back here aside, Daud had not anticipated the Abbey to be this… brazen. In lying to the public, perhaps, even in lying to the Crown, but not in wilfully deceiving their own.

The second body within weeks that they'd seen shackled into an interrogation chair, Teague Martin’s corpse had not burnt to a crisp. Death had not been that kind.

“This was not Tyvian poison. Not the expensive sort, anyway.”

Martin’s face was grotesquely disfigured, his lips and tongue swollen in extremis, the skin around his mouth and his nose so purple it was almost black, eyes swollen shut either from the toxin that had killed him or a vicious beating, Daud honestly wasn’t sure. Kneeling down to examine his hands, Daud had to wrangle one of his gloves off inch by inch, rigor mortis firmly set in. Once he had the left off, it revealed blackened fingertips.

“He must have died in agony,” Corvo rasped.

“They were going to put him through worse,” Daud nodded towards the torturer’s tools on the tray next to the chair. The branding iron was there, too. He contemplated having to break Martin’s fingers to get the glove back on when that specific detail gave him pause. “Wait. They didn’t poison him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He thwarted their plan. They were going to torture him for information, then brand him and throw him out on the street, perhaps even in the hopes he’d crawl all the way to Dunwall Tower. But he cheated them out of their fun.”

“He killed himself.” Corvo’s voice was flat.

“Yes.” On a hunch, Daud turned the glove inside out, revealing a tiny puncture at one of the tips. “Pinprick, probably hidden in his sleeve.”

“How do you know?”

Daud looked up at Corvo, meeting the accusing gaze of the shifting lenses. “It’s what my men know to do if they’re captured.”

Corvo simply stared back for a long moment. “There’s no explaining this, to anyone. The Order will have to cover this up.”

Wondering at Corvo’s reaction even as he was happy to move on, Daud weighed the options. “They’re going to want to forget about him. No urn and plaque for High Overseer Martin. He might even be struck from the records. In a year, no-one is going to ask about him anymore.”

“So we should just leave him here?”

“Do we have a choice?” At Corvo’s silence, Daud stood. “We have what we came for, we know how he died; and if push comes to shove, we can use that knowledge. But now, we have to get out of here.”

Again, Corvo didn’t say anything, and instead turned towards the small gallery behind them. “Hang on.” Blinking up onto the bars separating the gallery from the interrogation space, Corvo appeared to make for the desk tucked against the wall.

Daud followed, jumping down and watching as Corvo rifled through the interrogation log.

“No record.”

“That’s not surprising,” Daud murmured.

“No, but it would surprise me if they didn’t do something,” Corvo insisted, checking the audiograph card that was still inserted in the recorder. “Ha! It’s labelled with yesterday’s date.”

Without hesitation, Corvo pressed play.

> _“Hello, Martin. I hear the second day is when the skin really starts to come all the way off. Is that true? Or is it the itching that really gets you?”_
> 
> _“Jasper, isn’t it? It’s not so bad in here. Except, I miss your wife.”_
> 
> _“Huh. You don’t scare easy, I’ll give you that. That’ll change.”_

Daud stepped closer in alarm. “They kept him here for two days?”

Corvo seemed to squirm for a moment. “I could—” he broke off, shaking his head.

Daud frowned. “What?”

“We could ask the Heart,” Corvo said, waving a hand at the desk as if pointing to the pertinent lack of other salient clues.

Daud went very still. “We could.” His awareness of the artefact in Corvo’s pocket was something he normally carefully ignored, even more so now. “It’s up to you.”

Slowly, Corvo reached inside his coat and withdrew the Heart. Daud watched as it… came to life.

_Corvo. Daud._

She didn’t sound surprised.

“Jess,” Corvo murmured, cradling the Heart in his hands. Daud forced himself not to look away. This wasn’t something he could hide from. “We need your help.”

_Once they are brought here, they never leave. The Overseers always find the guilt they seek._

“Hold on,” Corvo told her, and looked to Daud. Daud nodded and led the way back towards Martin. Once they were standing next to the chair, Corvo gently squeezed the Heart.

_So many have found their end in this room. Innocents, heretics, civilians. Assassins wearing masks._

Daud clenched his jaw.

_They would never forgive you for what you are._

Corvo’s shoulder brushed his.

“What can you tell us about Martin?” Corvo asked her, holding the Heart in their dead ally’s direction and squeezing once again.

_They dragged him in here late at night, shackled him, and left him alone the first day. No company, no food or drink. Just the chair, and that tray with instruments. On the morning of the second day, they lit the fire and prepared the brand, but did not yet use it. They questioned him. About the Empress, the old one and the new, and what they were to the traitor, Corvo Attano, and to the assassin, Daud. Why two heretics would risk their lives for them._

“The Overseers who did this, what are they planning?” Daud asked before he could stop himself.

 _Their motives are… obscured._ A pause. _He knew he would die that night, though not by their hands. He once laughed in the Outsider’s face. He would die laughing in theirs._

“Jess, please,” Corvo said. “What is the Order planning?”

 _There is so much anger_ , she responded, sounding grieved. _So many things I cannot see. But I can see this: there is division, too, and there are those who would call for peace._

“What do you mean?” Daud grated impatiently.

_Not all is lost, Daud. The next High Overseer might not be who you expect him to be._

Daud suppressed a sigh and rubbed his brow instead.

“What?” Corvo murmured.

“Your optimism’s catching,” Daud grumbled.

 _I think you’ll find it was mine that finally rubbed off on him_ , the Heart chimed in with a teasing note, which Daud had _not_ been prepared for. In his defence, Corvo made a pained noise.

“Jess,” Corvo said in an entreating tone.

Even as Daud stifled a grin, he recognised how much there was in Corvo’s past that he would never understand; and that he could not hope… to become a part of Corvo's future that others would envy as he did.

_You have to leave. They will come to move his body soon._

“Alright, we will.”

“Thank you,” Daud rasped, feeling more than a little awkward and more or less hiding it behind sheer civility.

_You are welcome, Daud._

He had a feeling she saw right through him.

***

They left Holger Square behind, sneaking away through the kennels, with Daud shuddering lightly at the thought that, after the attack, some of the Whalers had actually lobbied him to keep the hounds. No, no – and _no_. Aedan and Quinn, especially, had been crushed; and the situation hadn’t been helped by the fact that all that Daud had been able to think about had been that, if Billie had still been there, she’d have called him an old, grumpy man and told him to listen to his kids, for once. So Daud had thrown them out of his chambers, sat down and not read any reports until Corvo had arrived to join him after patrols a few hours later.

“We can’t keep the hounds,” had been the first thing out of Daud’s mouth the second Corvo entered the room. “They can’t _stay_ here.”

“I know,” Corvo had responded quietly. He’d regarded Daud with a wary expression. “Did Aedan and Quinn come to see you?”

Daud’s eyes had snapped up. “They came to see you first?”

Corvo had raised his arms in mock surrender. “Only to test the waters. I told them it would likely be a bad idea.”

“Keeping them or asking me?” Daud had asked, meaning to sound sharp and coming out at irritable and fond instead.

“Both?” Corvo had said with a hopeful expression, sitting down across from him.

Daud had huffed in annoyance then, and he huffed in annoyance now, as he traipsed overhead of snoring wolfhounds. He could see their tongues lolling out of their gigantic mouths, all jaws and teeth and… drool.

“Aedan and Quinn still badgering you about a puppy?” Corvo whispered as he pulled level with him. Daud, happily not hindered by a mask, gave him a glare. “Alright,” Corvo muttered and continued on.

Once they were out past Holger Square and on Clavering, Corvo tugged on Daud’s arm. “Should we make a detour into the Distillery District?”

Daud frowned, then remembered why. “Still worried about Slackjaw?”

“He’s still missing,” Corvo said simply.

That answered that question. “Let’s go.”

Though less enthused by Daud’s presence, the Bottle Street Gang took well to Corvo’s arrival at the distillery. Things were quiet, Daud noted, much of the usual banter, gossip, and general boisterous mood was missing.

“Hey, get outta there, it’s our man in the mask!” one of them called towards the distillery, drawing more members of the gang out into the yard. Daud bristled at the reference to Corvo, but he supposed it was preferable to them shouting, ‘Hey, it’s Corvo Attano, Royal Protector and Masked Felon!’ loud enough for the entire City Watch to hear.

“How long has Slackjaw been gone now?” Corvo asked no-one in particular.

One of the burliest of the crew stepped forward, having been chosen to speak for the gang in their boss’s absence. “Name’s Craxton, sir. Six days. Two of our men went with him down into the sewers, wanted to check somethin’ out. None of ‘em came back.”

“The sewers?” Corvo questioned. “You didn’t pass that on to Daud’s men.”

“Didn’t trust ‘em with no details, did we,” Craxton grunted.

“Tell me,” Corvo demanded.

Craxton shot him a leery look for a moment, but then shrugged, either because Corvo was the gang’s best bet at getting their boss back, or because Slackjaw had, in a rare moment of insight, given him orders to work _with_ Corvo if he got the chance. “We found the witch.”

*

Who knew, Daud thought, that the Bottle Street Gang, in their wisdom, would actually manage to smoke out Granny Rags. Well, some of her rats, anyhow.

Once Craxton had told them everything he knew, he’d shown them to the entrance to the sewers below the distillery.

“This is where they went in. We’re keeping traps on the other side in case it’s not them who’s coming back out.”

Corvo nodded, and Daud didn’t have to see his face to know that he was thinking about access points and potential hiding places. He internalised another sigh and turned to Craxton.

“We’re going down to look for him, but we don’t have all night. If we don’t find any trace of him within the hour, we’re coming back up and leaving.”

Craxton nodded. “Fair ‘nough. I’ll let the others know.”

Corvo, for his part, turned and waited until Craxton was out of ear-shot. “We’re going down there?”

“Don’t make me change my mind,” Daud grumbled.

Corvo, wisely, held his peace. When Craxton returned, he nodded at the thug. “Thank you, Craxton. Before we go: one of the Hatters is keeping you on his to do list.”

Craxton let out a dirty laugh. “Course they are. I’d like to see them try. Thanks anyhow.”

“No problem,” Daud cut in. He motioned towards the sewers. “Now can we go?”

The sewers underneath the Distillery District were even more badly lit than those underneath Rudshore, and that was saying something, Daud found. Getting by on a combination of Void Gaze and listening for river krusts before rounding corners, they made their way into the labyrinthine structures. Nothing had turned up so far – not even a corpse or two, aside from the occasional dead Plague victim. Gang members were easy enough to tell apart and recognise by their clothing, so even the Bottle Street Gang’s simple garb would stand out among the Weepers’ rags, stained with blood and excrement.

Daud was about to mention that their hour was nearly up when he heard something. Corvo, too, stopped and held his breath. There it was again. A low moan – but of a coherent man in pain, not the wail of a Weeper.

Pushing ahead, Daud took the next left and then an immediate right. There he was.

“Stu?” Corvo came up beside him, then led the way. “Stu, is that you?”

“Man in the mask,” the man apparently called Stu breathed through obvious pain. Coming closer, Daud saw he was holding his left side, blood staining his fingers.

“What happened? Where’s Slackjaw?” Corvo crouched down beside the man while Daud took a look at their surroundings. Another Bottle Street thug was sprawled on the other side of the sewer, unmoving. The gate ahead was blocked, the entrances to maintenance rooms blocked off with planks of wood. To their left, another sewer way branched off, cluttered with debris.

“We went in, just to look for the witch. See if it was true.”

“Why here?”

“So many rats in the distillery, more than usual. Slackjaw figured it couldn’t be a coincidence.”

“Why did you go alone, why not take more men?”

“Slackjaw said,” Stu was interrupted by a rattling cough, “said that if it was the old granny he remembered, she couldn’t be none too dangerous.”

Daud grit his teeth. They’d _warned_ Slackjaw about making any rash moves.

“She’s a witch,” Corvo, too, was disgruntled at hearing this. “We told him to watch his back, not confront her on his own. He might have bested Black Sally, but this is different.”

“Tried… tellin’ ‘im,” Stu said slowly. “Wouldn’t listen. He ain’t… been the same. Since Crowley,” he added, as if that explained everything.

It did. Daud’s gaze unwittingly landed on Corvo.

“Where is he?”

Stu jerked his chin at the sewer branching off to the left. “Down there.” When Corvo stood and turned, Stu’s eyes widened. “No, wait. You’re not going down there? Alone?”

Corvo looked at him over his shoulder. “I’m not alone.” Then, he turned to Daud. “Coming?”

Daud kept his eyes on Corvo’s mask, knowing Stu was watching them. “Let’s go.”

*

What they found was… Daud didn’t actually have any words for what it was. In a night of bizarre scenes, this certainly fit right in.

“Help! Please! Someone kill this crazy witch! I’ll make you rich!” Slackjaw was screaming at the top of his lungs, struggling against the chains.

“Quiet. Granny needs to concentrate,” came the brittle voice of an old woman, menace flowing from every syllable.

“Granny Rags, don’t kill me. Stop what you’re doing! Can’t we at least talk about it?”

“My knives gotta be nice and sharp to cut into your skeleton, Slackjaw. Nice and sharp.”

Confused, Daud called upon the Void to help him see – and what he saw, beyond the two figures near the entrance to the cave, one kneeling and the other standing before him, was a bubbling cauldron.

Corvo had evidently come to the same conclusion, as he nudged Daud with his elbow. “She what,” he whispered.

“Apparently,” Daud whispered back. “Look, we can’t—”

“Won’t you come out, my sweet princes?” Granny’s call cut him off, and Daud’s hackles rose. “I know you’re there, and I am just dying to meet you. It’s not polite to keep your Granny waiting.” There was a melody to her voice and words that reminded Daud very uncomfortably of an old woman from one of Emily’s stories, who would lure children into her home – to capture and eat them for dinner.

Exchanging a glance with Corvo, Daud decided it was no use, and shrugged.

Corvo led the way into the cave.

“Granny Rags?” Corvo called, stepping forward.

“Ooh,” the old woman crowed, clapping her hands together. “That mask, I know it. How tall you are, so striking.” When Daud fell into place at Corvo’s shoulder, she turned her attention to him. “Daud. In all my years I never thought the two of us would truly cross paths. But here you are, following this handsome fellow into danger. Who knew it would take a protector in a mask to put the Knife of Dunwall on a leash.”

Daud bared his teeth. “I am on no-one’s leash, witch.” Corvo’s shoulder pressed back against his for a moment, the contact intended to calm him and yet it only served to remind him of the danger they were in. Losing Corvo to this witch… was not an option.

“I was disappointed, you know, when I saw the two of you were taking up with this one,” she waved a dismissive, arthritic hand towards Slackjaw. “He’s been sending me gentlemen callers for years and years, and not the ones I used to receive. ‘Open up, Granny, it’s time to pay,’” she nagged mockingly. “Well, my door stayed shut, and I made it my endeavour to see the Bottle Street Gang driven from their turf. I thought it would take longer.” She turned towards Slackjaw. “But of course, their leader is as reckless as he is disrespectful,” Granny spat.

“Granny,” Corvo spoke up. “What are you going to do with him?”

“Cook him, of course. He will make a fine birthday feast. And you two,” she turned to look at them, her clouded eyes unseeing and yet landing right on them, “are invited, my dearies. But only… if you help me and put him to the knife.”

“No!” Slackjaw, who had been quiet throughout their exchange, was now fighting his bonds against, thrashing in the stocks. “Listen on me, Corvo! Don’t help her! There’s a cameo, I—I know it don’t look like her, but it is her, when she was young! It holds the key! Destroy it!”

A shock of adrenaline went through Daud. They would have to act fast, now.

“You shut your mouth!” Granny Rags screamed at Slackjaw, lunging for him. Daud clenched his fist.

Moments later, she was suspended in time, the grey of the Void all around them. Corvo drew his sword. “Go.” He put himself between the witch and Slackjaw with a Blink. Daud took one more look at him, then he took off running up towards the structure Granny Rags seemed to have been living in. A grotesque sight, a maintenance rig, topped with the head and carcass of a whale. Transversing inside, he found what appeared to be her sleeping quarters – complete with a painting of the Outsider, obviously done by Sokolov. Void.

No time for sightseeing, Daud activated Void Gaze, hoping the sight would point him in the right direction. _There_.

Just as time unbent around them, Daud grasped the cameo from underneath a pillow. Below, the witch’s scream continued, and Daud heard Corvo grunt as she flew into him instead of Slackjaw. He also heard the thud as he knocked her back.

“Daud, now!” Corvo yelled.

Moving quickly, Daud flipped the switch that opened the furnace, hesitating a moment before dropping the cameo inside.

Another, primal scream sounded from below. “I will cut you up and eat your heart for breakfast!” Granny Rags shrieked.

Daud slammed down the switch, watching as the furnace began to heat up. Below, Corvo cried out in pain.

In a second, Daud transversed out onto the metal walkway. What he saw had his blood run cold. Granny Rags was nowhere to be seen, but Corvo was surrounded by more rats than Daud had ever seen in one place – and there was blood on his sword. Ducking and weaving, he hacked at the rats that came too close, blinking out of the way when they threatened to overwhelm him. Transfixed, Daud watched as Corvo decimated the swarm in mere seconds, his fluid movements never faltering, but it proliferated time and time again. Behind Daud, the furnace was now roaring to life and he could feel the heat against his back.

A wail, distant as though it came from the Void itself, cut through the air, and suddenly the rats were gone.

“You,” the witch’s voice came from behind him, and Daud swivelled on his heel to face her, drawing his blade. But she was gone again before he could take a swing. Daud ran down the stone steps to get to Corvo, transversing the final distance to join him close to where Slackjaw was still bound.

“She took the key,” Corvo panted. “I can’t free him without it.”

“Where is she?” Daud asked, his eyes roaming the cave for any sign of her. He and Corvo stood back to back now, their steps circling as they turned.

“Right here,” she suddenly appeared behind them – behind Slackjaw, holding a dagger to his throat.

“Let him go, Granny,” Corvo began. “What’s the use of it now?”

Daud was a little fuzzy on what the use had been _before_ , but he kept that to himself.

“Oh!” Granny cried. “You are just like all the others. Dull, dull, dull they were, all of them. And now, the years have gone and everything is dreary, dreary, dreary.”

Foreseeing no good end to this, Daud tried his luck. “Let him go, and we’ll leave. Slackjaw will tell his men to leave you alone.”

“Empty promises!” she shrieked, her knife now pressing against the skin of Slackjaw’s neck, whose eyes were wide with fear.

“We’ll make sure he keeps it,” Corvo jumped in.

Just then, Daud noticed something curious. Granny’s eyes kept flickering towards something to her left, on the ground. While she was hurling abuse at Corvo for his betrayal, Daud followed her line of sight and saw a tattered bound manuscript and a key, lying on the ground a few feet away from them. Corvo had said that Granny had the key to the stocks, so that couldn’t be it.

When Daud raised his eyes again, Granny Rags’ was staring at him. “Looking at what isn’t yours is very bad manners, assassin.”

Making a split-second decision, Daud flexed his fingers. “Neither’s cutting throats.” He went for the manuscript in the same moment as Corvo sprang forward, but Daud’s gamble had already paid off. Instead of Slackjaw’s, it was his throat that Granny was aiming for now. Transversing quickly, he grabbed the mouldy old book and tossed it towards the cauldron. It fell short by more than a few feet, but it provided the distraction he needed.

Torn between hurting him and protecting her book of spells – she whirled around and sliced at Corvo, who had come up behind her. Corvo reared back, escaping her knife. He could have easily run her through with his sword, but instead he still tried to reason with her. Daud felt heat rise in his gut. They had to end this, now. Any way they could.

“Stop this, Granny,” Corvo tried to persuade her, but the old woman was beyond reason. Had been for so long.

She also had a few more tricks up her sleeve. Daud watched in horror as she dissolved, before their eyes, into a devouring, writhing mass of rats. So that was what had happened before, Daud thought, but it was as far as he got before his breath caught in his throat. She may have turned into a pack of rats, but Granny wasn’t done yet. She reappeared, whole and human-shaped, behind Corvo, who was fending off the rats as he had before, her knife raised in the air.

Daud didn’t think. He acted.

Clenching his fist, he called upon the Void, grinding his teeth, and _commanded_.

With a grunt, Corvo vanished where he stood, staggering into place beside Daud not a moment later, but he wasn’t paying attention. His eyes fixed on the witch, he raised his arm to aim and set a sleep dart right into her neck vein.

As she crumbled to the ground at his feet, Daud raised his gaze to Corvo.

*

After delivering Slackjaw and a badly injured Stu to the gang, Corvo and Daud trudged back towards Samuel, who was still waiting for them on the river outside the district.

“You two look like hell,” he commented bluntly when they appeared by the boat. When neither of them said anything, he shrugged. “Where to?”

“Tower,” Corvo answered for them both.

***

“What happened in there, what did you do?” Corvo demanded as soon as he’d taken off the mask and locked the door to his chambers. He'd dismissed the guard who'd taken over from Simmons before they'd left, so at least they didn't have to worry about anyone overhearing what they discussed.

Daud fell into one of the armchairs by the fire with a low groan. “What do you think I did?”

“Did you—did you summon me?” Corvo asked incredulously. “And it _worked_? You said this wasn’t like the Arcane Bond, that we were just… aware of each other.”

“I didn’t know it would work,” Daud explained, more or less. “I just—I didn’t think, Corvo. I saw her behind you with that knife, I was low on mana after bending time earlier, and it was the only thing I had left.”

Corvo came closer, gracefully crouching down beside the chair, and Daud had to avert his eyes. Still riled from the fight, it was now that memories assaulted him, of the panic of that morning, of fearing Corvo would be taken away from him while he was hiding away with Emily, of Corvo fighting the rats, seamlessly using his weapons and his powers; and then there was the lingering ache in his Mark from when he’d summoned him to his side. Daud would put it down to overexerting his abilities if it wasn’t for a very different ache entirely, low in the pit of his stomach. _No_ , he thought, _not now, this isn’t_ —he cut himself off, leaning back in the chair to avoid looking at Corvo.

“Are you alright?” Corvo asked quietly.

Daud grunted, gaze drawn back down. “I had an elixir on the boat, remember.”

“I don’t mean your mana. I mean your wound,” Corvo said, his hand coming up as if to put it on Daud’s side.

“It’s fine.” Daud tensed at the thought of Corvo touching him. _He doesn’t think of this that way_ , he reminded himself. And besides, Daud shouldn’t, either. This was common after all, the rush after a fight, and had led to more than one awkward breakfast in the Whalers’ dorms in the past. _Not common for you_ , a voice in his head scorned him that sounded suspiciously like Billie. Unable to bear Corvo’s proximity for another moment, Daud pushed out of the chair.

“What’s wrong?” Corvo stood, watching as Daud paced a few feet into the room.

“Nothing,” Daud lied.

“Daud,” Corvo said and Daud’s skin crawled as he drew out the sounds, his voice low and cajoling. Did he have _any_ idea what he was doing to Daud? Worse, he was walking towards him, and as Daud felt heat rise in his face, Corvo’s expression turned from worry – into something very different. “Daud,” he said again, stopping so close they were nearly touching.

“I should—”

“Kiss me,” Corvo murmured, low.

Daud put his hands on Corvo’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Yes, Master Fowlhurst, I'm well aware a good _fonging_ is on the way. This has got to be the, like, fourth time I'm ending a chapter on them (nearly) snogging. BUT — next week, there'll be naked, sweaty skin, so consider this your first Naughty Warning of many.  
>  b) Bahahaha Daud thinking, 'Eh, surely we won't just stumble through the door of the witch's lair.' Famous last words, buddy. Famous last words.  
> c) The shitty first draft had Corvo saying, after Daud summons him to safety, "Well. That was inelegant." It didn't make the cut, but I cackled for at least a minute. Also: eeeehhh Arcane Bond capabilities! I never really intended to do much with it after introducing the concept of their powers being connected in Part 1, but then this happened...  
> d) Daud and Emily hiding away from the Overseers — that scene went through SO MANY iterations (including some way more complicated ones). And I originally only started it because Daud has a tendency to talk himself into uncomfortable conversations he doesn't know how to get out of...  
> e) Yes, Emily was about to ask Daud THAT question. And he knows it.  
> f) LOL I HAVE TOO MANY FEELS FOR THIS.


	11. Who by brave assent (Corvo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo and Daud finally take matters into their own hands — and their clothes all the way off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey babes, I'm back from London and it was GREAT, but I've also been feeling poorly the past couple weeks and this week is just genuinely awful. As a result, I've not been working on the new chapters as much as I would have liked to. So I'm splitting two backlog chapters into shorter parts, extending the chapter total to 18. I wasn't gonna do it just because I was busy (and I was, work has been crazy), but being sick is kinda the one reason I'll allow to buy myself some time.
> 
> What I'll do is separate the Naughty Parts from the overall chapters, also making them easier to skip if anyone doesn't want to read those. What we have here, then, is Naughty Chapter #1, from Corvo's perspective. So this is the first warning. Second warning: I'm awkward at smut. I've really worked on it for this to make it less awkward, but... let me know what you think!
> 
> [Lead Me Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K53Lf5Jkbjs&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=27).

Corvo’s heart was thundering in his chest, and he knew Daud could feel it through the fabric of his shirt and vest. The boat ride back to the Tower had felt like an age, Corvo’s thoughts racing with what had just happened. Daud had used his powers, the Arcane Bond, to save him, and the look on his face as he’d put Granny Rags to sleep—still, Corvo had pushed all of that aside, his concern for Daud’s injury overriding everything else.

Seeing Daud struggle just the same, however, set alight the restlessness inside him, the pent-up tension of the day simmering beneath his skin. Surprised by his own forwardness, Corvo fought not to betray his nerves as Daud’s hands could just as easily push him away as pull him closer.

Daud’s gaze sought his, dark and unguarded. As though waiting for the space between them to be filled with silence and wanting, Daud stayed. Corvo didn’t move, didn’t repeat his wish – for that was what it was, neither demand nor request could be made of it. Not of this. It was a long moment before Daud’s lips met his. Corvo inhaled sharply, unwilling and unable to conceal it, and pressed closer, trapping Daud’s arms and hands between their bodies, thinking nothing of it until Daud himself moved, curving one arm around Corvo’s waist as though it belonged there. Even when fighting in the pits, nothing had ever been left to as little imagination as Corvo needed now, feeling Daud’s chest rise against his.

Corvo dragged his lips over Daud’s as he pulled away to breathe, swallowing reflexively when Daud’s fingers splayed on the small of his back as if to keep him close. “Not going anywhere,” Corvo murmured, leaning back in. He remembered the last time they’d been close like this, remembered the way Daud’s mouth had parted against his when he’d touched him, and quick as pain desire sparked through Corvo without warning. Before he could reason with himself, his hand was on Daud’s shoulder, then his neck, and when Daud pushed closer, Corvo gave in and tangled his fingers in Daud’s hair, just above the collar.

As he’d hoped, Daud opened himself to him on a gasp, then hissed when Corvo threw caution to the wind and flicked his tongue against Daud’s lower lip. Blood rushing from his head, Corvo did it again, biting back a moan when Daud welcomed him. Tightening his grip and tugging lightly, he was rewarded when Daud growled low in his throat.

Seeking a better angle, Corvo shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but his thoughts stalled and stuttered when his thigh brushed Daud’s. Breaking the kiss, he drew a deep breath and thought only to move back in when Daud pulled away. Opening his eyes, Corvo blinked.

The expression on Daud’s face was one of pained admiration. “Corvo,” he rasped, his voice hoarse because of what Corvo was doing to him.

Stroking his fingertips over Daud’s scalp, knowing it wasn’t playing fair and not giving a damn, Corvo licked his lips. “Daud,” he responded in kind, his own voice no better off.

“It’s been a long day,” Daud ventured slowly. “You need to rest, and I should…” he trailed off when Corvo tugged on his hair again. “Corvo,” he rumbled accusingly.

Corvo’s heart was racing now, but for different reasons than before.

“Daud,” he began, working up the courage. He swallowed. “Do you want this?” _(Do you want me?)_

Just for a moment, Daud closed his eyes again. When he opened them, Corvo wasn’t prepared for the old familiar pain twisting in their depths. “You know I do.” The words, so simple, recalled his admission from weeks ago, that night in his office.

“Do I?” Corvo asked softly.

“If you don’t, you are a fool,” Daud murmured, lowering his eyes.

“Or perhaps you are, talking about rest and things you ought to do,” Corvo tried to lighten the mood.

Daud looked back up at him as he’d hoped, but the hurt was still there. “I _ought_ to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because this will end,” Daud ground out the words like breaking bones and, finally, Corvo understood.

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss against Daud’s jaw, listening as Daud drew a ragged breath. “You think I’m doing this only because you’re leaving.” Corvo pulled back to meet his gaze.

Daud didn't speak, only looked at him as though the thought was far too obvious to merit the pain it implied.

“I am,” Corvo chanced, hardly finding the words and hoping to the Void they would be enough. “Because I don't want to regret not knowing you.”

Without another word, Daud closed the distance between them.

Perhaps it _was_ the rush of the day, the turmoil of fighting Granny Rags and only barely escaping that emboldened their mouths and their hands, pushing and tugging at each other, but as Corvo unbuckled the belt across Daud’s chest, he knew that that wasn’t why they were doing this.

This had been between them for so long, in every furtive glance, in every lingering touch, and even though Corvo hadn’t realised the true intent of his feelings until mere weeks ago, until he’d brokenly confessed to Jessamine; nothing had really changed when he had. Daud was still the man who’d saved him, the one who'd kept him right and true, who'd done more to mend Corvo's soul than he might ever know — or would ever allow himself to admit. Daud had come to him thinking himself broken, but willing to put up one last fight. Perhaps Corvo had already loved him then. As Daud undid his vest, Corvo felt the words lodge in his throat.

Tearing himself away, Corvo uttered another wish. “Gloves.” At Daud’s questioning look, he murmured, “Take them off. Please.”

Daud’s eyes darkened as he raised his hands between them, making short work of the leather. “To do what?” he asked roughly.

“Touch me.”

Corvo’s wish was granted. Daud’s calloused fingers roamed his face, his neck, then twined between the strands of his hair. Corvo forced himself to keep his eyes open, gaze locked with Daud’s, determined not to look away.

“Corvo,” Daud said gruffly, as if learning the name anew. “I don’t know how much I can—” he cut himself off, the words dragged out of him against his will or at least, perhaps, his pride.

Corvo smiled. “Come on,” he bade him gently, turning and walking backwards. Still attached to him as he was, Daud followed. Casting a glance in the direction they were going, Daud swallowed.

“Are you sure?”

Corvo halted abruptly but by design, fire in his gut flaring when the sudden stop brought Daud up close against him. “I’m sure.” Smugness gave way to concern. “Are you alright?”

“Stop asking me that,” Daud rumbled, taking Corvo in a deep kiss that was, apparently, supposed to answer the question. Daud’s hands dragged down Corvo’s sides now, fingers curling into the fabric of his clothes. Because he could, because he wanted to, Corvo wrapped his arms around Daud’s shoulders, drawing him in.

As his shirt rode up with the movement, he smiled when Daud’s bare fingertips trailed over the skin of his back, leaving heat in their wake, heat that was also pooling in his gut and settling into the marrow of his bones; awakening old instincts and new, unfamiliar sensations, such as the way the stubble on Daud’s jaw scraped against his own when he abandoned Corvo’s mouth and nipped and licked his way towards his ear instead. Corvo’s knees went weak when Daud found that spot again, and when lips gave way to teeth and their sharp sting soothed by a warm tongue, Corvo couldn’t help it and refused to deny it – his hips bucked forward, pressing himself against Daud’s thigh, feeling Daud against his own, and this time he didn’t bite back the moan.

Daud hissed again, Corvo felt it against his throat as much as heard it. “Attano,” Daud warned him gruffly.

Corvo tilted his head and brushed his nose against Daud’s temple. “Please…”

“What?”

“We are not sixteen,” Corvo finished a little awkwardly.

To his relief, Daud merely grinned. “You mean we’re too old to come in our pants?”

Corvo’s mouth went dry. Flirtation had never come easily to him. “I mean I’d like to see you,” he answered earnestly instead, rewarded when a pained look crossed Daud’s face.

“The mouth on you,” he growled, then promptly kissed Corvo’s breath away, his tongue slick and hot and making Corvo _want_. A new kind of urgency between them, their hands set to work on buttons and buckles with intent now, with Corvo cursing the Whalers’ uniform attire and their predilection for absolutely more buttons than necessary as Daud’s hands pushed his shirt and vest off his shoulders.

It took Daud’s help, then, to even the field; and when they had, Corvo didn’t pretend he wasn’t staring. Daud seemed even broader now that he was shirtless, which shouldn’t have been possible, and past the smattering of dark hair on his chest and leading towards his navel, Corvo saw the nicks and scars and burns from a life lived on the edge between this world and the Void, his Blood Briar injury only covered with a simple bandage a few days after its infliction. He saw now how far down past the high collars _that_ scar went, the marks of his past scattered across his skin, bare to Corvo now, sharing with him this as he had his time, his trust — and sometimes, his secrets. Before he could stop himself he was lifting his hand to trace his fingers over Daud’s collarbone, pressing gently into the divot where shoulder met neck. The noise dragged out of Daud at his touch pulled Corvo back into the present, but only just, and when their eyes met, Corvo realised Daud was looking at him with something close to trepidation, and he couldn’t understand why. Then, Daud’s hand settled on his hip, brushing the waistband of his trousers and, oh, perhaps he could.

“Yes,” he forestalled any question about being certain, or alright, or ready – because he was, and possibly not in that order. Daud snarled.

Trousers followed belts followed socks followed boots, Corvo halfway to the Void at the friction provided by the fabric of his smallclothes, so when Daud’s large hands descended on his shoulders and pushed, he went willingly, quickly, already reaching for Daud. Something sparked in Daud’s eyes and Corvo thought that, perhaps, if this weren’t the first time they were doing this, there’d be a caustic remark about eagerness far closer to the tip of his tongue as he watched Corvo scoot back on the covers, lifting and pushing them down with his feet when he arrived at the headboard. He tried to keep his attention on Daud’s face, he did, but there was no being not aware of the evidence of his arousal in places that were _not_ his face. Corvo swallowed.

Watching as Daud lifted and set a knee on the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight, Corvo’s fingers grasped the sheets underneath him (as if that did anything). Slowly, Daud advanced on him, following his path, until he was towering over Corvo, staring at him (all of him). When neither of them thought to speak, Daud set a light hand on Corvo’s thigh next to his, just above his knee, and Corvo twitched not unlike the sixteen-year-old he remembered being – vividly, at this point. Stalking towards him now was a man who was feared across the Isles, but Corvo felt neither fear nor hesitation. He wanted to be close, instead, wanted to give Daud pleasure and whatever else he might accept of him.

Courage getting the better of him, Corvo squared his shoulders. He watched Daud watching him as he brought his hands up and hooked his thumbs into his pants; as Daud’s chest rose and fell, then rose and fell no more when Corvo bared himself fully to his gaze.

“Corvo,” he bit out, his voice hoarse and strained; and Corvo wanted him, wanted Daud to breathe his name against his skin, wanted to feel the syllables rumble through his chest even before the sounds reached his ears. He reached for Daud’s wrist, pulling or pushing was all the same to him, and Daud followed him down, still kneeling, bracing himself on his arms atop Corvo, closing his eyes when Corvo’s legs tangled with his.

“Daud,” Corvo whispered, asking, commanding, pleading; reaching down at the same time, their fingers brushed and stroked, then the last barrier between them was gone, kicked away beneath the sheets as Daud settled over him, so close that he felt the heat come off him. Both would have to admit to looking their fill before time caught up with them.

Looking back up to meet Corvo’s eyes, Daud licked his lips. Corvo shuddered, stretching underneath him in anticipation, skin prickling where it met Daud’s taut muscles on either side of him. Remembering their kiss in the kennels, he curled his right hand around Daud’s arm next to his head, anchoring himself when the current threatened to carry him away, his left grasping for the sheets again.

“Please,” he whispered, straining up towards him. Bending down, Daud’s mouth sealed over his, and then the rest of his body followed, covering Corvo’s frame; and he didn’t let Corvo pull away when he gasped into the kiss, taking his breath and his moans, too.

"What do you want?" Daud asked him when he pulled away for air, and Corvo could have laughed, his chest heavy with the things he couldn't say.  _Come back to me_ , he thought. _Stay by my side_ , he thought and bit his lip, _and_   _l_ _ove me, if I'm deserving of your heart._

He arched his back, pressing himself against Daud, breath stuttering when Daud's eyes darkened.

"Want me to touch you?" Daud asked, not waiting for an answer. "To put my hands on you?"

"Yes," Corvo had just about the strength to nod, pressing back into the pillows when Daud's broad hand covered his side, gentling him as he shivered. Daud's fingers roamed and squeezed, and when, experimentally, he twisted one of Corvo's nipples, Corvo moaned his name. Daud followed the path his hands had taken with his tongue, and Corvo could barely stand it. Still, Daud took his time, mouthing at Corvo's neck even as the heat between them built and Daud's touch became rougher, his grip on Corvo's hip now firm and sure.

Eventually, Daud let up on him, leaning back and watching as Corvo tried to calm his breathing. "Can I—"

"Yes." Corvo didn't even let him finish, and was then dimly aware of his own aborted shout when Daud decided he didn't need to be told twice and long fingers wrapped around both of them. Thrusting forward into his grip, Corvo's hand moved of its own accord, winding over Daud’s waist skirting his wound, his hip and his back, lingering as the muscles shifted under his skin as he undulated against Corvo; but it moved on, further down, until Corvo could spread his fingers over Daud’s rear and, on Daud’s next upward thrust, squeezed.

With a grunt, Daud bit Corvo’s lower lip, then pulled back, panting, eyes shut tight, his brow furrowed. There was no real pace to their movements, one thrust slow and lingering, the next shallow, then slow and deep again. Corvo hissed, arching his back as Daud’s thumb moved over the head.

“Fuck,” Daud whispered as he spread the moisture gathered there over both of them. “Corvo, I can’t—I’m close.” The tendons of his neck stood out as he threw his head back when Corvo squeezed his cheek again.

“Me, too,” Corvo ground out through his teeth. “Just let go.”

“No,” Daud shook his head. “Gotta—wanna make it last.”

“Next time,” Corvo spoke without thinking, gasping when Daud’s fingers tightened in reaction. “Next time,” he decided, “you can let go now. I’ve got you.” He rambled, hoping he was making sense and not truly caring.

“Corvo,” Daud all but keened, and there it was, there was the edge Corvo hadn’t known he was looking for; another thrust, and another, fingers so warm and broad around him, and then he was falling, falling into nothing, head bent back and mouth opened to a voiceless scream as, above him, Daud shuddered through his own release.

Slowly coming back to himself, Corvo panted, breaths sounding far too loud to his own ears. Daud was hovering over him, collapsed into his side rather than on top of him, and chancing a glance at the mess on his chest and stomach, Corvo could live with the momentary disappointment. Corvo reached up to drag his hand through Daud’s hair, dishevelled now and damp with sweat, the fluttering in his chest no closer to calming when Daud arched into the touch. Stretching up, Corvo pressed his lips to the corner of Daud’s mouth, searching for a taste he’d barely come to know and missed already.

Daud exhaled against his cheek, then moved to slot their mouths together properly, but only for a moment. “Let an old man catch his breath,” he said, only to draw up a brow when Corvo scoffed.

“You’re stubborn and ill-tempered. You’re not old,” Corvo told him.

“Smartass,” Daud rumbled.

“Takes one to know one,” Corvo shot back, bolstered by the rush and finding it difficult to keep the matching grin off his face.

Daud lifted his right hand, and Corvo half-expected it to be to tell him to stop talking nonsense, but then he really _looked_ at Daud’s hand and his mouth went dry again. Smirking, Daud said, “We should clean up.” Mutely, Corvo nodded and made to get up, only for Daud to stop him. “Easy. Stay here.”

Corvo watched as Daud rolled away, got up and out of bed and stretched his shoulders as he moved, watched as he walked, naked and uncaring, towards the bathroom. The light turned on, spilling out into Corvo’s room, brighter than the light they got from the small whale oil lamps still lit on his desk and the fire burning low in the hearth. With a sigh, Corvo let his head fall back against the pillows. Waited.

A short time later, Daud returned, a washcloth in his hand. Stalking towards Corvo on the bed, he seemed even taller and not at all vulnerable even in this state, but then Corvo looked up at his face and saw the open expression in his eyes. Something ached inside him.

Daud cleaned him up gently, the washcloth lukewarm to the touch (the best even the Tower’s pipes could do at really short notice), but Corvo observed his face, composed and focused, rather than the movements of his hands. He couldn’t find anything to say, so he didn’t, content to wait until Daud was satisfied with the state of Corvo’s chest. Once he was done, he leaned forward and kissed Corvo quickly, then straightened and made his way back. Corvo heard running water and a soft, rumbling noise that, if he didn’t know better, he’d describe as _humming_. Unable to discern any sort of melody, Corvo didn’t strain too hard to listen, and instead settled further into the bedding.

The day’s events and tension catching up with him, he felt his eyes close, but stirred when Daud emerged from the bathroom, turning off the light as he went. Corvo followed his movements into the room, and it only occurred to him then, when Daud seemed to be searching for something on the floor, that they had not exactly discussed _sleeping_ arrangements.

He was relieved when Daud quickly bent down and retrieved a pouch that had come loose from his belt during Corvo’s efforts to remove it quickly and placed it on the desk. Noting Corvo’s gaze, he said, “Bone charms.” Corvo didn’t say anything, his heart in his throat as Daud rounded the bed again, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

Searching his face, Daud’s expression turned serious. “If you’d rather, I can move down the hall.”

“Stay,” Corvo shook his head, not caring what Daud could or could not do in his (absurdly noble, at this point) quest not to cause Corvo any discomfort. “Stay with me.” He pulled the covers up over his legs, then reached for Daud.

“Alright,” Daud said quietly, shuffling closer, lying down beside him. Daud's hand came up to cradle his jaw. Lips pressed against his forehead. Corvo closed his eyes, barely daring to breathe. “Good night, Corvo,” the words were whispered into his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) THEY'RE FINALLY NEKKID OH MY GOD.  
> b) They are also dumb as bricks. BRICKS, I TELL YOU.  
> c) Corvo doesn't want Daud to think he's trying to manipulate him into staying.  
> d) Daud... has a whole slew of other problems.  
> e) Everyone with a pulse and eyes is tearing their own hair out right now.  
> f) And yes, I stole a line from DOTO there.


	12. Who by accident (Corvo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best-laid plans of rats and men... and the morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So are we all sufficiently buzzed from last week's shenanigans?? A huge thank-you to everyone who commented and flipped their lids!!
> 
> This chapter's a little on the shorter side, but good news: I'm feeling a lot better, so writing can resume as normal. I'm currently making way towards the Big Bad Climax (no not that kind, you perverts), so I'm dragging my feet a little. But there's prep underway for Part 3 before the end of the year, so it's really just me being silly. ANYWAY.
> 
> This week's addition to the playlist: [Baltimore's Fireflies](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lh5TsDBBDig&index=28&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).

Some hours later, Corvo woke slowly, making a face when he realised the alarm on his bedside table was ringing. Attempting to stretch to the side to turn it off, he registered two things: the heavy weight against his right side and across his middle, and warm, steady puffs of air against the side of his neck. His stomach jolted.

Stirring now, Daud made a noise deep in his chest, his legs shifting against Corvo’s under the covers.

“’m not turnin’ it off,” he rumbled, eyes still closed.

“Then let me move,” Corvo answered quietly, his throat scratching.

“Hrmpf,” was all the ground Daud gave, but rolled onto his back, his arm sliding from Corvo’s torso; he raised it to shield his eyes from the light spilling in through the windows instead.

Corvo quickly silenced the clock, then followed Daud’s warmth across the bed, curling into the other man’s side like Daud had done throughout the night. Daud hummed this time, his arm winding around Corvo’s shoulders and fingertips tracing over his bare biceps. Determined to make the most of the time he had before Daud was fully awake, Corvo put his hand on Daud’s chest, carding his fingertips through the wiry hair, flattening his palm against the firm planes of his stomach. Places that hadn’t been his to touch the first time they’d shared this bed.

Daud’s hips shifted under his touch, and Corvo smirked as he huffed out a breath.

“No time, bodyguard,” Daud mumbled, with what might have been disappointment. Corvo did not presume himself so lucky.

“Good morning,” Corvo said before leaning in to kiss Daud’s shoulder.

Daud gave an inarticulate grunt.

“Sun’s up, I’m allowed to talk,” Corvo teased, reminded of Daud's disgusted reaction the morning after the Timsh mission.

“No, you’re not,” Daud returned, surprising Corvo by twisting onto his side and kissing him, his chest pressing against Corvo’s. His lips dry and warm, the kiss lingered but demanded nothing. Corvo’s hand came to rest on Daud’s back, blindly brushing sleep-warm skin and finding more scars as he explored what he hadn't had the mind to the night before. Daud's broad back and shoulders called for time spent drawing invisible patterns, connecting scars and marks and freckles Corvo knew he had to have. With the sheets tangled between their legs but obscuring little, Corvo recaptured a fleeting thought from the night before – what it might feel like to wrap his legs around Daud’s hips, his full weight on top of Corvo. Breaking the kiss, Corvo bit his lip, hoping against hope his… interest in the idea wasn’t becoming too obvious.

Daud let out a soft murmur.

“Hmm?” Corvo questioned.

Daud’s grey eyes met his. “Morning isn’t so bad. Maybe.”

Warmth settled deep in Corvo’s chest, and he hid his face by trailing kisses along Daud's jaw. Now was not the time to give himself away — or to wonder. Daud had allowed himself to fall into bed with him, had stayed the night by Corvo's side after offering to sneak down the hall instead. He had done everything Corvo asked, touched him, kissed him, made him lose control. Everything but one — because Corvo had not dared to ask. But was he, Corvo wondered, worthy of Daud's heart?

*

In an effort not to get caught, they abandoned the bed shortly after, hunting for the remainder of their clothing; most of it scattered on the floor half-way between Corvo’s desk and the bed. The sight drove some heat into Corvo's cheeks, reminding him of reckless, long-past beginnings. Daud was as unconcerned by his nakedness in the morning light as he’d been the night before, and Corvo couldn’t help but wonder whether that was a side effect of living in close quarters with a band of mercenaries or, perhaps, just a little, due to where he was and who he was with.

They took turns washing up, and as Daud brushed past him into the bathroom after Corvo called for him, filling the doorframe and quite literally turning Corvo’s head, Corvo knew there’d be things to say and questions to answer. But for now, as he dressed and knew that Daud was with him, safe and sound, it was enough.

If asked to bet on any sort of interruptions that morning, Corvo would have put his money on Emily, even more so because it was the morning after a mission. Instead, as he was buttoning his shirt, a disturbance in the air heralded the arrival of a Whaler.

Looking up in alarm, Corvo recognised Rulfio. Tension lanced through him – if Rulfio was here, it was urgent. Before the Whaler could ask, Corvo made a decision.

“Daud,” he called, knowing that Daud would have sensed Rulfio’s arrival. His eyes on Rulfio, who tilted his head, Corvo waited.

It was useless to hide it – Rulfio would have checked with Void Gaze before transversing inside, so he already knew Corvo wasn’t alone, and anyone who’d been with Daud for so long would know him through two brick walls and a bathroom cabinet. As he’d ventured into the room anyway, whatever had brought him to the Tower was too important to be concerned with etiquette. Corvo would worry about opinions later.

Inside the bathroom, Daud must have come to the same conclusions, so seconds later he was walking through the connecting door, lucky enough to have taken at least his trousers, boots, and shirt with him earlier. Had any of the Whalers ever seen him barefoot?

“What is it?” he asked Rulfio without preamble, and if the Whaler was at all surprised at the implications of what he was seeing, he didn’t let on.

“Sir, Corvo,” Rulfio began, “the Ascending Circle has called for the Feast of Painted Kettles. Martin’s successor will be chosen within the week from among the Overseers present in Gristol, to simplify the process. The Sisters of the Oracular Order have begun a new cycle of prophecies and will resume proclamations once the High Oracle has returned to the sect.”

Corvo peered at the clock behind his desk. From this moment on, he had about an hour until an official messenger would arrive at the Tower with the same news. Even if the Abbey loathed sharing their business with the public, there were certain courtesies to be observed, even now, as the ties between the Crown and the Order were weaker than ever since Corvo had come to Dunwall.

"I'll need to call an extraordinary council meeting," Corvo told Daud as an aside.

Daud nodded. "I'm needed elsewhere as well," he said with a glance towards Rulfio.

The Whaler shifted. "I'll wait for you on top of the water lock," he said to Daud, then bowed to Corvo and vanished.

"Couldn't get out fast enough," Corvo couldn't help himself, with a side long glance at Daud, who smirked.

"Never met a nosier kid in my life. But there's things even Rulfio doesn't want to know."

"Are they..." Corvo gestured vaguely.

"They are," Daud returned gruffly, picking up his belt and clipping the discarded bone charm pouch back on.

Corvo tilted his head.

“They’ll have opinions, and they’ll keep them to themselves.” Daud put on his coat. “I’ll go back to the pub and reorganise patrols. The Ascending Circle and the High Oracle in one place means Holger Square is going to be swarming with Warfare Overseers.”

“Are you going to draw men away from searching potential witches’ hide-outs?” Corvo asked as he stepped closer and buckled Daud’s belts for him while he slipped on his gloves.

“Most likely. Can you spare anyone?” Daud’s voice pitched lower at Corvo’s closeness, sending a shiver down his spine.

Corvo nodded, trying not to let his distraction show. “A few.”

“Send them to the Estate District, especially the Clocktower. I’ll pull the Whalers in from across the river.”

“Okay,” Corvo agreed. Even if Corvo’s agents had to know he had help from unknown quarters, it wouldn’t do to risk having them meet in a witch's apartment. Those contacts Corvo still made use of were open-minded enough to believe witches existed, but they did not know about the Whalers’ changed allegiances; nor did they need to.

As he reached up to fasten the final two collar buttons of Daud’s coat, Daud made a low noise and Corvo looked up, finding dark eyes boring into his.

"You’re not so frightening with your buttons done up wrong," Corvo told him without missing a beat, lowering his hands when he was done, much as he’d have liked to put them to good use – but that would have undone all his hard work on those buttons.

“I’ll show you frightening,” Daud growled, advancing on Corvo, taking a hold of his own unbuttoned vest and tugging. Corvo, going willingly with what had to be a slightly drugged expression, leaned in without thinking about it, without questioning whether he should; and didn’t realise he had until Daud met him halfway. But where before Daud had been cautious and last night had been deep and tender, he now let his irritation seep into the kiss, as he quickly bit at Corvo’s bottom lip. Smirking at Corvo’s grunt, Daud allowed himself to be chased as he pulled away and Corvo followed, pressing closer.

Daud hummed against his lips, the sort of low, lazy sound that made Corvo’s insides twist and toil, and he had half a mind to thank all the whiskey and cheap tobacco in the Isles that had ‘ruined’ the man’s voice. Corvo nearly pitied the Whalers for having to hear it, combined with the sensations he knew could be caused by the Arcane Bond, day in and day out; but then the thought that Daud had chosen him felt like a stab in the heart and it was all Corvo could do not to grasp Daud’s neck to make sure he didn’t pull away just yet.

They had to part eventually, however, what with Whalers waiting and Corvo needing to speak to Emily before they called in her council. Daud pressed one last kiss to Corvo’s jaw, then leaned back.

“If I’d known you were insatiable,” he grumbled.

Corvo knew him better than to mistake it for a complaint. “You’d have stayed away?”

“Would have kissed you sooner." A simple thing to say — Daud was not a simple man. Corvo's breath from his lips, the touch of his skin against his fingertips, still heavy with sleep; none of that was simple in and of itself.

"Daud," Corvo rasped, feeling hope rise within himself before it could be crushed.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Daud murmured, and then he was gone, through the Void.

* * *

The rest of the morning was spent in tedious discussions and back-and-forth with Emily's advisors. The events of the past year had shaken Parliament, another such change, and so soon, disturbed their delicate equilibrium. As Emily handled their hand-wringing with remarkable aplomb, Corvo had to keep tight reins on his temper. They had no idea — the things he had done, the things Daud had done to save them all. Corvo did not delude himself, it was their fault that Teague Martin was dead; and Daud may have described him as a "thieving scoundrel" when he'd first brought up his name, but he had still died guarding their secrets. He could have bought his freedom — and had taken his own life instead.

They had engineered the transition of leadership within one of the Empire's most influential institutions, had put in place a puppet of their own intentions rather than letting politics run its course. With no choice but to let things play out now, Corvo had to contend with feeling both toothless and relieved. Installing Martin had been a horrendous abuse of power. Make no mistake, Corvo would do it again. But he dearly wished he would never again feel compelled to.

* * *

This council session, too, passed, and when it had, Corvo escorted Emily towards her chambers for her lessons. He had barely reached his own quarters when Simmons intercepted him.

"Lord Attano, Piero Joplin sent a message asking for your presence in the laboratory," the young guard relayed to him. Daud had warned him of Simmons knowing he'd been with Emily the day the Overseer delegation from Tyvia had arrived at the Tower unannounced. Corvo had watched Simmons carefully after that — for signs of fear, of mistrust. But the young man had not changed his ways and proven to be as dependable as ever, and kind to Emily as well.

"Thank you. Return to your post," Corvo told him and turned on his heel, making his way down into the bowels of the Tower. The laboratory was tucked away beyond the kitchens and the Watch barracks. It was a bit damp down there, and the maids found it ghastly to go down there at all, so the three scientists sequestered there had soon taken to fetching their meals from the kitchen themselves. Emily loved visiting them, of course she did, and more than once Corvo had regretted not simply being able to send Daud down to fetch her, as he was sure one of Daud's scowls might send even Emily scurrying up the stairs. So when Corvo went to get her himself, it took them a quarter of an hour every time — Corvo knew he was soft with her, but he refused to apologise.

Today, he walked in on another argument.

"Anton, you know very well that if we get the dosage wrong on this batch, we're going to have to start brewing from scratch again, which will cost us weeks! We have to measure out portions and test different solutions in increments," Hypatia was physically blocking Sokolov's access to the workbench, Piero by her side, nodding.

"Oh don't be so grim, Alex!" Sokolov grated with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm sure that we got the calculations right this time."

Hypatia scoffed. "This isn't just about the calculations. Alchemy is about more than numbers."

Corvo cleared his throat to get their attention. Hypatia and Piero whirled around to face him while Sokolov nodded in greeting.

"Corvo," Piero waved him closer. "We have good news!"

"Good news not everybody seems inclined to share just yet," Corvo returned as he walked up to the workbench.

"Oh, never mind their haggling," Piero shot a dirty look at his colleagues — though more at Sokolov than Alexandria, Corvo noted.

"Haggling?" Anton promptly objected. "It is far from mere haggling, and you know it. Testing an antidote as complex as this under such inferior conditions compared to those at my own lab on Kaldwin's Bridge—"

"You mean without ready access to infected humans," Hypatia interrupted him, her calm demeanour revealing a sharp countenance that few would suspect from the otherwise soft-spoken scientist. "Rats are perfectly suitable for our purposes, and there are those who would still deem the practice cruel."

"Not everyone makes a habit of injecting themselves with their own concoctions," Sokolov said, his voice fairly dripping with sarcasm.

Hypatia scoffed. "My research into the miners' afflictions had progressed far enough that the risk was mitigated."

"It could have cost you your degree, if the board had known," Sokolov growled, and Corvo could not decide whether Sokolov would have voted in favour of or against such a motion.

"Are you arguing against risk?" Hypatia asked, fairly incredulously — a sentiment Corvo echoed by crossing his arms over his chest and raising his brows at Sokolov. His reaction did not go unnoticed, going by the glare Sokolov sent his way.

And thus, the argument continued.

***

An hour later, he was finally back in his rooms. He sat at his desk and went over the Watch reports, detailing assessments of the new recruits as well as suspicious activity or arrests that had been made. Especially the latter, Corvo read with an eye for detail — any mention of the Flooded District, Rudshore Gate, and the area surrounding the Hound Pits pub had to be assessed for risk and, if necessary, passed on to Daud. (Not that the Whalers usually knew about Watch activity that intersected with their own patrols before he received it in writing.)

_Corvo._

He didn’t like to admit it, but he startled. Was there no peace?

But then, it was Jess who had called for him, and he would never deny her. His coat was draped over the high back of his chair, the Heart calling to him from the Void. Corvo freed it from its confines and watched it glow in his hands.

“Jess?” he asked. What cause could she have to summon him now? It was rare that she spoke of her own accord, the process of pulling herself through the Void usually aided by his own connection to the vast nothing beyond this realm. Surely not—

_I told you he could make you happy._

“Jess!” he exclaimed, somewhat scandalised and, to his own mortification, not entirely surprised. Corvo closed his eyes.

_He thinks he's never known someone like you._

“No,” Corvo told her brokenly, “don’t. Don’t tell me what he’s thinking, you know that’s not fair.”

He sighed. He and Jess, they had not… they’d not spoken about this as a possibility, only Corvo had admitted that it had become increasingly difficult to keep himself in check – that alone had driven burning shame onto his cheeks, only for the Heart to hum approvingly in his grasp. Their situation was surreal and confusing and… Corvo would have said wrong, before all this, but now he felt the imprint of Daud’s lips and teeth against his neck (he hadn’t left a mark, but Corvo couldn’t forget nonetheless) and he couldn’t…

“I love you,” he murmured softly.

_I know._

Gently, Corvo held the Heart and smiled.

_Do not let him go without telling him, Corvo._

"I can't do that."

_Do you not want him to return?_

"I do. But not for me. For himself. If there are different dreams in his heart..."

_And if he believes there is nothing for him here? How far to Gristol's shores will his heart carry him then?_

He offered no contradiction.

_Tell him. The world will keep turning as it will._

Corvo watched as her voice retreated into the Void. Indeed, the world kept turning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Can we all tell I'm absolutely WEAK for how broad Daud is? Can we?  
> b) "Would have kissed you sooner," LOL DAUD  
> c) Am I going to hell for the Grim Alex bit yet? Am I? It came to me in a dream, I swear.


	13. Who in solitude (Daud)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud finds himself worrying about things he can't change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up in the Brigmore Witches fandom, as we're creeping ever closer to the finale. But first, Daud and Corvo have a couple more feels to get to. After you spent last week yelling at Corvo, feel free to start punching Daud for being a similar sort of idiot...
> 
> As I spent the last couple of weeks researching a lot and taking a shit-ton of notes, I can confirm that Part 3, titled You Know Who I Am, can be expected to arrive just after Christmas, give or take!!  
> Also, next week I'll up the ebook version of Chapters 1-9 for this story, if any of you need some light travel reading ;)
> 
> This week's addition to the playlist: [Run (Hozier)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g5I-ttgLKaU&index=29&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).

For Daud, the day passed in a flurry of activity that reminded him of some of the Whalers’ busiest – and bloodiest – months. Times when they’d had contracts to deliver nearly every night for a fortnight, when months had been spent planning meticulously to execute the perfect culling, only to vanish into the night at the end of it, never to be seen again – unless someone put a hit out on their employers the year after.

Rearranging patrols, changing routes, taking into account City Watch movements, the spread of the Plague to different quarters, and the Weeper detention measures at Rudshore Gate – all of this Daud could do in his sleep, but it still took hours. He didn’t have the numbers to work with that he used to, not least because half a dozen men had left before this madness had even begun; he was three Whalers short because the Empress was their _friend_. In layman’s terms, they were buggered sideways. Even as he stretched the Whalers’ numbers to capacity to distribute them across the city, he knew this would have proven impossible if Corvo hadn’t agreed to dispatch agents on the other side of the Wrenhaven. Especially the Estate District, hit the least hard by the Plague so far, required a lot of ground be covered. Of course, technically, the Whalers would be better suited to this task as they could actually cover a lot of that ground in a single bound, but the geographical division offered Daud more comfort than he should care to admit. The Crown’s agents and the Whalers would each be useful – and never the twain shall meet.

The journey back to the Hound Pits with Rulfio had been… quiet. Uncharacteristically, Rulfio hadn’t offered any thinly veiled sage advice, nor any commentary. Daud had been too distracted thinking about the Abbey to wonder whether that was a strike for or against either Corvo or Daud’s own decision-making; but sitting up in his quarters now, the bottle of whiskey back on his desk, Daud couldn’t help it. His thoughts strayed.

He knew he should be worrying about the Feast of Painted Kettles. Daud, as much as Corvo, dreaded each interaction with the Abbey, and he did not envy Corvo the responsibility of doing so in an official capacity; even if that offered a modicum of protection, as opposed to Daud’s back-alley brawls with zealots carrying grenades. The delegation from Tyvia had proven a call far too close for comfort. In any of the three other nations, the Abbey’s influence was weaker than in Dunwall, where the Crown and the Order were tightly intertwined, much as either side might wish it were not so; but Corvo was bound to Gristol and its politics. All the while, Daud was working on loosening his own such ties. Well, some.

It had taken Daud a long time to come to terms with the fact that he hadn’t done what he had for coin. He sure as shit hadn’t done it for redemption, either. He’d done it out of anger, first, and to protect his interests – his Whalers. It was Corvo who kept insisting on calling them his ‘family.’ And now, Daud was determined to lay down his sword on the grave of a woman whom he’d failed to protect in his first real attempt to make a Void-forsaken difference.

The Empress was his friend now, too, and worse, her father was the man he’d become so hopelessly addicted to he might as well toss himself into the river for all the good it’d done the city.

Corvo. It was him he was doing this for, and Jessamine too; and wasn’t that just making the same mistake? Daud had once hissed at Corvo that he was done being a tool, and now… Billie’s bitter words echoed in his memories. _Puppet_ , she’d called him.

His thoughts turned to the previous night, and he downed a glass of whiskey in one go as images of Corvo writhing underneath him surfaced before his mind’s eye. He’d ask himself what he’d been thinking, except he knew he hadn’t been thinking at all. Corvo had soothed the void inside him. Daud was not given to flowery romances, he did not imagine himself a new man, waking up in Corvo’s bed. He knew Corvo did not love him. That was fine; he couldn’t demand of Corvo what he himself had no idea how to give.

But nothing would ever be as it had been, now. Corvo’s words had guaranteed as much.

 _Because I don't want to regret not knowing you_.

The ugly truth was, if Corvo had just asked, Daud would have given in. That spoke to Daud’s character. The fact that Corvo had answered the way he had, spoke to his.

Things had gone well that morning, despite Rulfio’s interruption and the swift destruction of any sort of calm by the news from Holger Square, but Daud wasn’t so foolish as to believe that this was how things would progress. Corvo had Emily to consider – and beyond, Jessamine, as Daud had no illusions that she did not know already. He had not asked before, and he wouldn't do so now, as any choices Corvo made were between him and the spirit of the woman whose heart he held, and who had held his in turn while she was alive, and still did in death.

The Knife of Dunwall’s final weeks in the city that had made him and that he’d done his best to break had begun. He’d spend them much differently from how he’d spent his first.

***

_Daud._

“No,” Daud grunted, opening his eyes. Met with the Void, Clavering Boulevard torn to pieces all around him, street lamps upside down and flickering, he groaned. “What?”

The source of the disembodied voice of the Void god was nowhere to be seen. Taking a deep breath to settle himself, Daud focused on the Void, the abyss inside him gaping and convulsing at being so close to the source of its power – of his powers, and to the one who’d bestowed them.

When he opened his eyes, they were bleeding tar just like the Outsider’s, and he let his instincts guide him across cobblestone and bone. Eventually, he found the Void’s emissary sitting on a low wall beside what remained, in the Void, of the docks at the entrance to the district.

 _Hello, Daud,_ the Outsider blinked at him as though butter wouldn’t melt in His mouth. Then again, seeing where they were and what He was, it probably wouldn’t, though not for lack of trying.

“What do you want?” Considering the timing, nothing good could come of this.

_Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?_

“I’ve no time for games.”

 _This is no game, Daud. This is your heart_ , came the condescending retort.

Daud bit his tongue. “As I said. I have no time for this.”

 _Don’t you? You didn’t exactly spend last night planning_.

There was so much vitriol hidden behind the deity’s cold exterior that Daud found himself intrigued, despite himself. “What do you know,” he asked rhetorically. The Outsider knew everything, if he so chose.

The Outsider descended from his perch and moved away to the side, his hands clasped behind his back. _I’ve seen you arrange many a funeral in your time, Daud, but I’ve never known you to console the widow._

For a moment, Daud was gobsmacked. “What?” he barked sharply.

 _You heard me_.

Anger rose from deep within him, from a place he kept so carefully untended; revealing loathing directed at himself more than anyone, but at the Outsider, too, at Delilah, at Billie, at the Conspiracy, at Dunwall itself, that wretched city. “I solved your riddle,” he growled, “I gave you Corvo, I weakened the Abbey, and now I’m hunting down a witch. I gave you what you wanted. You—you gave me hope, and then you watched as I failed. You knew she would die, and you watched me try to save her, anyway.”

_You saved the city, didn’t you? You saved him._

“I should have been standing hidden behind her throne, not over her dead body,” Daud spat. “And I am not discussing Corvo with _you_.”

_You were having fun._

“It should never have happened,” Daud said clearly, ignoring the hollow feeling in his chest. And yet, it had.

 _And yet, you want it to happen again_ , the Outsider said smugly as he circled back towards him _. What would the new Empress think?_

“She won’t know, and I’ll be gone.” The thought of Emily finding out about Daud defiling her father... it did not bear contemplation. No, Daud did not have to justify his choices to an eleven-year-old, monarch or not, but the fact was that those choices could still cause her pain. And he wished to spare her that, at least.

 _You can’t leave until this is settled_ , the Outsider reminded him. _And what happens after? There’ll be more plots, more assassins._

“Corvo will protect her. And until then, nothing gets to them,” Daud promised darkly.

The Outsider tilted His head. _Do they have any idea_ , He asked almost softly, _what you would do for them?_

“It’s better that they don’t.” Daud hated how revealing that answer was, but still he gave it.

_Perhaps not. But what happens when you make your last sacrifice, and they’re left with nothing? Who’s going to explain it to them then?_

“You like to talk so much,” Daud shot back, telling himself he was refusing to rise to the bait, “why don’t you?”

_Change is coming. I doubt it will make Corvo inclined to listen._

Daud’s ears perked up. “Change,” he echoed. “What do you know about Delilah’s plans?”

A redundant question. He had no doubt the Outsider knew what she was planning, and only the fact that he’d set them on her path at all was any indication that she hadn’t already succeeded.

_She wants what was taken from her. The same thing you wanted, once upon a time._

“I am nothing like her.” Did He have _any_ actual reasons to say half the things He did, beyond taunting the living?

_You, too, set out to force your will upon the world. Only, Delilah… she has found the means to do so. For decades, you’ve cut a trench through Dunwall’s nobility without actually accomplishing a thing, and now you’re this close to actual power, and you’re wasting it sitting in a cushy armchair while a witch is using her paint brush to take it all away._

“Make _sense_ , you black-eyed bastard,” Daud ground out, futile as he knew it to be.

_And where would be the fun in that?_

It occurred to Daud that this was the longest they’d stood to spend time in each other’s presence in years – he’d have long expected to be flung back out of his dreams by now. He tilted his head.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, uncertain of what sort of answer he expected, if any. He didn’t know why he’d even ask – not as though he’d receive any thanks for it.

The Outsider’s expression remained unmoved – which, with him, meant he was drawing up a mocking brow.

_You’re not worried, Daud, are you?_

‘About little old me,’ was hanging in the air between them, and Daud cursed himself for opening his big mouth. He shrugged demonstratively.

“If you’ve nothing else to say, send me back. I’m tired.” It was a gamble, he knew; either the Outsider would heed his complaint or keep him here and _talk_ just to spite him. Daud waited.

 _Sleep well, Daud. You’re going to need the rest_ , the Outsider intoned with an air of superiority, and then the Void disintegrated.

In the dark of his quarters, Daud opened his eyes, unsure whether to be relieved – or disappointed.

***

The following fortnight passed in a state of tension – as the Abbey convened to appoint a new High Overseer, all Daud, Corvo, and the Whalers could do was wait. They were keeping busy enough, preparing their infiltration of Brigmore Manor would take a few more days yet. Daud snuck into the Tower a few times, Corvo spent some days in council meetings and Parliament sessions with Emily, and then burnt the midnight oil at the Hound Pits, helping Daud collect the information they needed.

This was one such night, with Whalers in and out of Daud’s chambers, Cecelia dropping by with plates of food insisting they “eat bread instead of paper.”

Rulfio had finally brought back the plans to Brigmore Manor – many of the architects’ bureaus in the Estate District were derelict, and Brigmore was old enough to have been handled by one of the most long-established firms in Dunwall: Moulton, Marston & Byrne. They had archives covering yards of walls, and with their offices on Finfick Lane ransacked, much of those archives had either been destroyed or stolen. It had taken Rulfio weeks to source the blueprints, but now that he’d delivered them, they had what they needed.

As for what had happened between them, the black-eyed bastard had been right. He did want it to happen again – ‘it’ being such an innocent little word, and yet now ‘it’ encompassed things Daud hadn’t deemed a part of his life in a long, long time. Things like the overwhelming desire to pin Corvo to the shelf behind his desk and mark his uncovered throat with his teeth, and longing, wanting also to bury his nose in Corvo’s neck and simply breathe. He controlled himself because he had to, because they had a job to do and because they were hardly ever alone.

When Corvo arrived each night, he set his hand on Daud’s back, just below his shoulders as though it was nothing to be mentioned, splaying his fingers when Daud relaxed or tensed or leaned into the touch like an idiot. When he left, he stepped close, knowing Daud could see the expression in his eyes for what it was, waited, and when Daud swayed towards him like a poplar tree in the wailing wind, he kissed him slowly, lingering until they heard Whalers’ steps on the landing. It was all the indulgence they could afford, and Daud didn't dare ask if Corvo was content with it. He looked to be, and Daud took that for what it was.

“When is Lizzy returning?” Corvo interrupted Daud’s wandering thoughts.

Daud cleared his throat, not quite trusting his voice. “In three days. She said the Undine will then stay docked for two to unload all her cargo and get it to the right buyers. After that, she can take us out to Brigmore as soon as we want.”

Corvo nodded. His eyes roamed the desk, over plans and maps and reports. “We’re ready,” he said quietly.

“When?”

“One week from today?”

“One week from today,” Daud agreed. “I’ll call them in.” He started towards the door, clenching his fist, waiting for the magic to build until the Mark was nearly incandescent with it. He rarely summoned the Whalers as one, as it didn’t always work and didn’t reach everyone equally, but patrols always paired those with magic and those without; and tonight most of his men were at the pub to begin with. Sounds of transversals and foot traffic from below the stairs heralded the convergence of Whalers in the tap room, so he and Corvo headed down.

The Whalers took their instructions silently, for the most part, knowing not to question them while they were laying out a plan. When Corvo concluded with a flick of his fingers against the map of the manor’s extensive grounds pinned to the far wall, it was Aedan who spoke up.

“How do we decide who’s going?”

Daud looked around at the assembled Whalers. They were serious, but he recognised eagerness in their faces – to play a part in this last mission, to prove themselves, to be there when they took down a witch. But Aedan had anticipated correctly that not everyone would get the chance.

“Enough of you will have to stay here to keep an eye on the Tower and the city, masters and novices alike. While Corvo and I are gone, the Empress is your principal concern. You all know what that means,” he told them, tone brooking no argument.

“Daud and I will choose a team of six to come with us, the rest of you will be assigned patrols and guard duties," Corvo added. "Understand that remaining here will be no slight against your abilities, or courage. I’m leaving you in charge of protecting Emily while I can’t.”

Daud watched as something shifted in the ranks – shoulders and backs straightened, chins lifted. The message had been received.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Oh Daud. Just go back to bed, honey.  
> b) Daud: *thinks of Corvo naked* *downs glass of whiskey in one go*  
> c) Is the Outsider trying to help or shitposting?? We just don't know.  
> d) Whalers being eager to prove themselves to ~~Dad~~ the boss gives me feels.


	14. Who in this mirror (Daud)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Undine makes port. A new High Overseer has been chosen. Daud and Corvo can't stay away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shoutout to everyone who yelled obscenities at Daud last week, but especially to Thallys, whose "DAUD YOU GIANT KNOBHEADED PILLOCK" took the biscuit. Bless.
> 
> This is the second Naughty Warning for this story, since Daud and Corvo might do their best to be valiant and behave themselves, but... who are we kidding. Those impure thoughts aren't going back in the box.  
> I also finished writing Chapter 16 last weekend, and you're all going to hate me. So much.
> 
> This week's addition to the playlist: [It Will Come Back (Hozier)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YMhZ18EmlFA&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=30).br />  
> And here's the ebook version of Vol. 1, collecting Chapters 1-9: http://jmp.sh/ncha6gQ

Three days later, the Undine made port. That night, Daud was due to meet Corvo in his quarters at the Tower. When he entered, he found Corvo at the desk, staring at a letter in his hands more than reading it.

“The Abbey has chosen a new High Overseer. They will announce it to the public in the morning,” Corvo told him as he approached, eyes still on the paper. “Yul Khulan,” Corvo looked up then, his expression perturbed. “One of the Overseers from Tyvia.”

“The delegation?” Daud didn’t hide the incredulity he felt at that. “Who is he?”

“He’s from Wei-Ghon, apparently, a city on one of the islands off the coast. That’s not in here,” Corvo raised the letter, “he told me himself.”

Now Daud recognised the name – Corvo had mentioned him after the Overseers had left the Tower that day. “Did you get the sense that he was a leader of the faith?”

“The delegation certainly treated him with deference,” Corvo replied. “But he was also the oldest among them, as far as I could tell, so I put it down to that. He made no mention of his standing within the Order. Have you ever heard of him, from anyone?”

That reference to Daud’s network of contacts, debtees, and informants even within the Abbey reminded him of the first time he had procured a favour (a rune tucked into a storm drain near the Boyle estate) and Corvo, not yet dreaming of taking over the position of Spymaster himself, had stared at him, eyes wide beyond the lenses of his mask.

Daud could only shake his head. “We know quite a bit about Overseers in Gristol, even Morley, but the conclaves in Tyvia and Serkonos aren’t much talked about. Tyvia for its isolationist policies, and Serkonos for the Abbey’s weakened standing against the old faith.”

Corvo made a face. “He seemed kind,” he said. “And if nothing else, it can only be in our favour if the Office of the High Overseer is led by someone from outside Dunwall and, better yet, Gristol.”

Daud weighed his answer. “Still, you have to be wary. When is he coming to speak with Emily?”

“Tomorrow, early.”

“I’ll be there,” Daud decided.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll stay well out of sight, but I want to see him with my own eyes.” Campbell had made a lot of people forget, but the High Overseer was supposed to be not only the Empire’s spiritual guide, but its rulers’ as well. Teague Martin had been a scoundrel and an opportunist with limited life expectancy; but if Emily was to be able to rely on this one, Daud wanted to know who he was, first.

“Thank you,” Corvo said earnestly, as if Daud’s intentions truly put his mind at ease. _As if_ , Daud thought. He got up again, nerves very nearly making him tug on his gloves. He should leave. He wanted to stay. Corvo’s eyes held his gaze.

Daud had to contend with the fact that his decades of killing amounted to very little compared to what he’d been able to do now that he had the Crown’s ear and favour — what would he have been able to do, had he chosen a side earlier — and actually turned the tide, in either the one or the other direction? He’d kept his promise, but it hadn’t a plan of his making from there on out; it had been survival. Decades ago, if he’d chosen a side, had he chosen for or against the Kaldwin rule, he could have turned the fate of Gristol. Of the Empire.

“Delilah’s more powerful than anyone I’ve crossed paths with in this world,” Daud said, à propos of nothing, and didn’t entirely know why. “Going to Brigmore will decide everything, and we can’t afford to hesitate. Severing Delilah's connection to the Void will make her coven lose their powers, if she carries the Arcane Bond. It's what would happen to the Whalers if I died. But we can't rely on finding a way to do that. If it's even possible.”

“What are you saying?”

Daud leaned forward, bracing his fists against the desk. “I’m saying that, if we cannot find another way, we still have to finish it.”

"I’m not letting her get within a hundred feet of Emily again," Corvo growled.

"Not that you’ll be of any use if she doesn’t actually need to be," Daud reminded him, and Corvo scowled at his words.

"And that means you’ll be where, exactly?" he challenged.

Daud gritted his teeth. "I don’t think that what Delilah is working towards is as straightforward as an attack on Dunwall Tower. So whatever it is, you do what you have to to finish it if I can't."

"Don’t say something like that," Corvo shook his head, and it took Daud a moment to realise which part he was aiming at; hoping, too, that he hadn't given himself away. Damn the Outsider's incessant questions.

"Things happen," Daud said, not knowing what else there was to say. 

In response, Corvo stood and grabbed him by the belt across his chest and hauled him closer, over the desk. "They do," he said, possessing the nerve to sound accusing, and then pressed his lips against Daud’s in a kiss that was neither hesitant nor patient. Daud had barely the mind (nor time) to respond before Corvo pulled back again, letting go.

"And now?" Daud rasped. "That’ll teach me?"

At least some common sense seemed to have returned, as Corvo’s gaze softened and the corners of his mouth turned down. "What the Outsider said to you—"

“That’s what this is about?” Daud’s heart stuttered for one embarrassing moment. “My story ending," he repeated the Void god’s words, mockery in his tone.

"It’s not just that," Corvo defended himself, but the scorn had subsided.

“Then what,” Daud demanded impatiently, ignoring the faint notion that he might come to regret asking.

“I just wish you could stay,” Corvo said softly.

Daud averted his eyes then, bending his head.

“Please, Corvo.” His voice would barely obey him, not when Corvo said things that… could almost make him believe.

“I know it’s not fair,” Corvo admitted, and Daud ached, the illusion taken from him as soon as it was given. Of course it wasn’t fair, he thought unkindly, to tell someone that you cared for them. Just not in that way. Just not… enough.

“Doesn’t have to be,” Daud rasped, handing himself over, lost; lost and in love with a man who would never be his. Whom he could never tell what it was he was really leaving behind.

Corvo continued, “I promised that I would never interfere with your decision, and I won’t.” He huffed a laugh, then, self-deprecating and without mirth. Daud, meanwhile, could barely hear him over the blood rushing in his ears. “Listen to me going on, I don’t—I know you won't change your mind.”

Daud tilted his head, one question dragging itself to the forefront. Did—did he truly not know?

“You could have asked,” the words drawn from him like marrow from a bone. Corvo looked exhausted, drained, and Daud wondered if that was his fault, too. Daud swallowed, watched as shadows twisted over Corvo’s face. “But you didn’t try.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Corvo asked, full of doubt.

“Yes,” Daud told him, and whether that was truth or lie didn’t even matter at this point. It was what it was. Corvo’s eyes cast down, and Daud searched for the right words and fell woefully short. So he did the last thing he could think to do, he stepped around the desk, close enough to feel the warmth that Corvo radiated like a damn furnace mid-winter, and curled his hand around Corvo’s arm, bare as he’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

Corvo let out what might have been a groan. “I tried so hard to stay away from you at the Hound Pits, with Whalers in and out of your office at all hours.”

Daud raised a sardonic brow. “That was you trying?”

Corvo turned to look at him then, accusation in his gaze. “And what were you doing?”

Daud smirked, even if his heart wasn’t in it yet. “Trying.”

“Try again?” Corvo asked, his eyes now slowly filling with mischief.

Daud had to fight to keep his breathing even. “Simmons?”

“Off duty,” Corvo said, his voice thickening with the implications, and the things they promised.

“What good fortune,” Daud provoked. “Whoever might have sent him off?”

“Funny.” Corvo was leaning closer.

“Not trying to be.”

“Stop talking?” Corvo suggested.

“Fine,” Daud ground out before closing the distance between them. It would be useless to try and catalogue the differences, just as the things that felt the same. The first time, Daud had been half drunk on the sight and taste of him, and now Corvo seemed determined to wind him up the rest of the way. Daud remembered Corvo’s request and so pulled away to reach between them. He removed his gloves and tossed them on the desk. His hands returned to Corvo’s arms, sliding fingers up to his elbows and back down to his wrists as he looked at him. He couldn't tell him what was in his heart, but he could do... this.

“Yes,” Corvo rasped, leaning in again; when he kissed him then, it was deep and sloppy, and Daud shuddered at the breach before chasing after him.

Daud was only too aware of the bed behind him, of the overhead lights illuminating the room, of the dark outside the windows, exposing them to the world.

“Lights,” he breathed between kisses, half expecting Corvo to tease him; but instead he received a grunt and a nod, then a light prod.

“Switch by the bed,” Corvo told him, hunger in his eyes, and before Daud could talk himself out of it, he was moving backwards, pulling Corvo along with him. It wasn’t lost on him that they were moving as though through a mirror, their roles reversed. ‘Next time,’ Corvo had said then, and Daud's body had believed him even when his heart couldn't.

Reaching blindly, Corvo found the switch, leaving them in darkness, shadows flickering with the movement of the fire burning in the hearth.

“Clothes,” Corvo rasped in an echo of Daud’s demand, lips fastened to Daud’s jaw and what of his neck wasn’t hidden by his collar. “Off.”

“As you wish,” Daud responded, too far gone for sarcasm even if Corvo might interpret it that way, instead grunting when Corvo’s fingers got to work on the buttons of his coat, his own hands tightening their hold on Corvo’s hips. “Why’s it you’re always half out of your clothes and I have to catch up,” he asked without really wondering if once – now twice – qualified as always; and coherent thought became a burden anyway when Corvo grinned and it reached his dark, dark eyes.

“I like undressing you,” Corvo said without an ounce of pity, and set out to prove it by removing Daud’s belts, letting them drop to the floor, then opening the coat and sliding his hands inside, over the fabric of his shirt, around Daud's sides and up to his shoulder blades, spreading his fingers and digging into the muscles of Daud’s back.

“Do you now,” Daud attempted to tease, but instead it came out hoarse and broken.

Corvo hummed, kissing him again, tongue drawing against Daud’s and taking the rest of his sense with it. He continued relieving Daud of his clothing, then, and Daud let him, working lazily on sliding free the buttons on Corvo’s vest and shirt when his hands weren’t in the way; his hips stuttering forward when Corvo tugged on the waistband of his trousers. Realising it was done to get his attention, Daud looked up from where his hands were tracing over Corvo’s stomach.

“Sit down,” Corvo told him – so Daud did, shuffling backwards until his knees hit the edge of the mattress, reaching behind him to throw back the covers. He sank down, gritting his teeth against the friction between his legs, but Corvo took his hands as he went for his boots. “Let me,” he said quietly, kneeling down in front of him, and Daud had no notion of whether more of his blood was rushing down or up into his face.

As he sat and watched, Corvo undid the fastenings of his boots and trousers, pulled off the boots and Daud’s socks, his face warming even more at the thought of how ripe his feet must be after a day of running around on Dunwall’s rooftops and crawling through the sewers, but Corvo didn’t make a sound about it, instead sliding his fingers up inside Daud’s trousers, fingers kneading at the cramped muscles of his lower legs. Daud let his head drop forward, hoping to hide his expression but unable to contain the moan that escaped him.

“Lie back,” Corvo instructed then, and may the Void take him but he did, glad to be able to focus on the ceiling above Corvo’s bed rather than evading his gaze for fear of saying the first thing that popped into his head when he so much as looked at him these days. Distantly, he heard Corvo's boots hit the floor one by one.

And so it went on, Corvo gently working at first one leg, then the other, then standing up to tower over Daud. “Hips up,” he said, and Daud raised them to let Corvo unbutton his trousers and draw them past his ass, then his thighs, until they were gone and he was in his underpants, tented with what Corvo was doing to him now and more besides; and then Corvo said, “again,” and the pants were off, too, and Daud decided that dying like this in the Royal Protector’s bed wouldn’t be such a bad ending to a terrible story.

He sat up again and reached for Corvo, then, drawing him down to kiss him fast and loose, uncaring that his breathing was harsh and ragged against Corvo’s cheek. He got his legs under him and scooted back on the bed, pulling Corvo along. His hands slid from Corvo’s shoulders to his chest, tracing a path from his collarbones to his waist, feeling the muscles shift underneath his palms. Corvo was lithe and strong, a stark contrast to Daud’s own more compact build, and it was a pity he’d barely had occasion just to watch him fight and train. Corvo was deadly, with or without his mask and sword, and so beautiful when he moved with violent intent. Daud did not wonder what these thoughts said about himself. He knew, as he watched the fire paint long shadows on Corvo's skin.

Corvo urged him to turn wordlessly, pushing at him until Daud was lying down with his head on the pillows, Corvo braced above him, kneeling between Daud’s legs, breathing deeply, his mouth open and his lips red and swollen from their kisses. His eyes raked down Daud’s body openly and without shame, and Daud squeezed his eyes shut when he felt himself twitch under the scrutiny, biting his lip to stop himself from sounding out his mortification and the pleasure singing under his skin, knowing he'd done the same to Corvo not so long ago.

He felt the tips of Corvo’s hair first as they trailed over the skin of his chest, and then Corvo’s lips, his tongue, his teeth. Daud ground his jaw as Corvo explored, then was helpless as Corvo’s mouth sealed over one nipple as a thumb brushed the other. As Corvo made sure to cover every inch of him with his hands, Daud didn't think about doing the same, about committing Corvo to memory as best he could. Didn't think about Corvo doing that to him, either — he couldn't, or he'd do something stupid.

“Corvo,” he growled, and it could have been a warning, but one Corvo didn’t heed as he did as he pleased. And Daud let him.

"Yes," Corvo hissed, whether in approval of Daud's naked skin against his or of the fact that Daud surrendered himself to the memory and Corvo's will, Daud did not know. Didn't care.

When Corvo bit at the skin below his ribs, it occurred to Daud that Corvo might yet be aiming to wander further, lower, and his breath hitched in his throat as his eyes flew open and he looked down, finding Corvo’s face hidden by his hair but what he could see of his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Corvo,” he repeated, his voice breaking when Corvo soothed the sting of the bite with a flick of his tongue, “what do you think you’re doing?” _Besides driving me out of my mind._

Corvo’s mouth lifted, leaving behind the sensation of rapidly cooling spit on too warm skin, and Daud didn’t even care as Corvo’s eyes found his, pupils blown wide in the low light. “What do you think I’m doing?”

Void, it wasn’t fair. Daud swallowed. “You don’t—you don’t have to—”

“I know,” Corvo replied almost lazily. He tilted his head. “Do you want me to?”

Daud, unable to stand the heat in Corvo’s gaze, let his head drop back into the pillows. “Yes,” he croaked, damning himself for not even _pretending_ to consider.

 _If we’re all in agreement_ , Corvo’s silence in response seemed to say, and then Daud’s fingers curled into the sheets at his sides when he felt Corvo shift and scoot down, warm hands coming up against Daud’s legs, curling over his hips, holding him in place – and it was better they did, because the next thing he knew Corvo’s stubble was dragging against the inside of his thigh.

_Fuck._

“I haven’t done this since I was sixteen,” Corvo murmured then, and Daud was going to _kill him_.

“I don’t ca—“ was as far as Daud got before the words died on his tongue, forgotten and substituted by a low groan. Corvo licked his shaft, slow and steady, getting used to him, learning him, growing bolder when Daud’s moans encouraged him.

Daud was overwhelmed by the heat, by the wetness of Corvo’s mouth, his breath changing with the pace of Corvo’s caresses. The few times in his life anyone had done this for him, before and after he’d realised that sex with strangers was intolerable and sex with casual acquaintances was disappointing more than anything else, the people who'd offered had been wanting more from him than he could give. He’d never met anyone who could have taken his blade to cut his heart out with only for him to thank them; none like Corvo, who could have his past and his future, too, if he just asked for it. Daud swallowed the sob that rose in his throat, panting instead, baring his teeth when Corvo mouthed at his head and then took him inside.

Daud was helpless against the sounds he began making then, grunts and whispers running into long moans, loud enough that he unclenched one of his hands from the bedding and clamped it over his mouth to shut himself up. His legs were shaking where they were hooked over Corvo’s arms and pressed against his sides, so he drew up his knees to brace his heels against the mattress, the tendons singing with relief only to seize up completely when Corvo moaned against him, _around_ him, as if to protest his silence.

Daud groaned, muffled, too far gone even for a well-timed insult, no matter that it would have come out sounding like an endearment anyway. Corvo squeezed his thigh with his fingers. Daud tilted his head back and had every intention of just surrendering himself to this and following it to completion at Corvo's leisure. Or, rather, at his mercy.

He was slowly sinking into it, heat settling into his limbs, when suddenly the bed rocked beneath him and Daud damned it all to the Void and took his hand away, looked down, and lost all sense when he saw that Corvo was rutting against the bed, still wearing his trousers, his hips working in time with his mouth on Daud. For a moment, Daud floundered, hissing and so close to coming from the sight alone; but he pulled himself together and rasped Corvo’s name.

“Hmm?” Corvo hummed in response (he _was_ trying to kill him), not letting up, leaving Daud to wonder if this was indeed reward, or punishment for a lifetime of sins.

“Up,” Daud commanded in his very likely least commanding tone.

Corvo released him, only making it worse when he licked his lips, swallowing spit and Void knew what else. Daud reached for him, pulled at him, until Corvo was kneeling once again, and Daud wasted no time in unfastening his trousers. Corvo seemed content to watch as he pushed them down right along with his pants, revealing the effect Daud had on him and leaving no room for uncertainty at least in this.

“Off,” it was Daud’s turn to whisper now, and Corvo obeyed, twisting to the side to shuck them, kicking them over the edge of the bed. Then he looked to Daud, waiting, expectantly, and Daud knew what he wanted. “Come 'ere.”

He guided Corvo up onto his knees, then closer, tugging at his legs until Corvo understood he was meant to straddle him. He hovered over Daud, looking down, and Daud raised his hands to cradle his face, stretching up to kiss him languidly, tasting what must be himself on Corvo’s tongue.

He pulled away to murmur, “Down,” sliding his hands behind Corvo’s neck, exerting gentle pressure. Finally, Corvo sank onto his thighs. “Stretch out your legs,” Daud instructed quietly, crowing silently when Corvo followed without hesitation. His full weight was resting against Daud now, in his lap, pressing him into the mattress. Corvo’s strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers of his Marked hand sinking into Daud’s hair. As tall as he was, he still had the advantage over Daud, who didn’t mind at all when he stretched forward to bite at Corvo’s neck.

His cock trapped underneath Corvo and Corvo’s between their stomachs, Daud took a deep breath to steady himself, need building and demanding release.

“Move.”

And Corvo did. Raising himself up, sinking against Daud, leaning down to whisper his name into his ear. Daud clenched his teeth – not yet. First, he wanted to watch him come apart as he’d done to him, and perhaps _this_ was the sort of revenge that solved everything.

He watched as Corvo’s teeth dug into his lower lip, as he groaned anyway when Daud bucked his hips, as beads of sweat trickled down his temples, his cheek and his jaw, where Daud was waiting to lick them away.

Giving themselves over to it, they trembled, gasped and sighed, but eventually Daud growled for Corvo to go faster, _rougher_ , shuddering towards the edge and tipping over, Corvo first when Daud remembered that nothing in life was fair and wound a hand between them to wrap it around him.

“Bastard,” Corvo cursed through clenched teeth, his fingers tightening in Daud’s hair just this side of painful, his head thrown back as he came, his seed spilling hot between them and over Daud’s hand.

That alone would have been enough, but then Corvo ground down against him, drawing Daud against the cleft between his cheeks and, oh, Void. Daud grunted his release against Corvo’s neck, breath punched out of him.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Daud muttered as his chest heaved, his heart pounding.

Corvo hummed, still out of it, and pressed a kiss against his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) The longing. THE FUCKING LONGING.  
> b) Yes, Daud, that'll teach you.  
> c) Corvo's putting the moves on Daud, and Daud is like "??????" but also "!!!!!!!!!"  
> d) Their feels about Daud leaving are just a complete _mess_.


	15. Who by his lady’s command (Corvo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If they're still bleeding, they're the lucky ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more week's respite before going to Brigmore, feat. a lazy (sort of) morning in bed. But the boys and Emily take the time to properly meet Yul Khulan, the new High Overseer. Not a raging asshole, for once, and I very much enjoyed writing him.
> 
> All that _thinking_ Corvo does this week took me hours in editing, and it'll always be imperfect because emotions are a mess and Corvo's still better at them than Daud, but... still not very good.
> 
> This week's soundtrack: [Youth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2QT5eGHCJdE&index=31&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN)
> 
> Speaking of music: the soundtrack to _Death of the Outsider_ is coming out tomorrow, Nov 3, and I may have my issues (lol) with the game itself, but I absolutely adore Daniel Licht's work on it. So if any of you wanna cry about it, find me on tumblr (@screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse) or on twitter (@andreamareike) and we can get a sob fest going.

As his breathing settled, Corvo rested his cheek against the top of Daud’s head. Wrapped around him now, Corvo almost couldn’t bring himself to care if everything outside of this room went howling into the Void. Almost – but the longing to remain in this moment was so strong that, perhaps, he could be forgiven for being selfish. Just tonight.

Daud was solid beneath him, taking the brunt of his weight without complaint, and when Corvo slid his fingers from his hair and behind his neck instead, Daud arched into it, pliant under Corvo’s touch and tilting his head back to look at him when Corvo murmured his name. The expression on his face was calm, open, his gaze resting on Corvo’s face.

 _Do not let him go without telling him, Corvo_ , he remembered Jess’s advice to him. Looking into Daud’s eyes now, Corvo knew he was a coward. He forgot the words he was meant to say and smiled, then kissed him instead. There was still time, he told himself. Still time.

Eventually, they had to disentangle themselves – to clean up, to heed the call of nature, and to put some semblance of order to the clothes they’d strewn everywhere. Corvo hardly dared to ask Daud to stay the night, but when Daud draped his coat over the back of one of the chairs by Corvo’s desk, his heart leapt in his chest. It was only when Daud turned to catch his gaze that Corvo recognised the uncertain slant to his mouth. Unsure of what to say, Corvo merely reached for Daud as he stood next to the bed.

Embers burning low behind the grate, the light from the fire barely reached across the room, and so the shadows were kind enough to hide the frown darkening Corvo’s brow when strong arms wrapped around him and Daud buried his face in his neck.

“Let’s go to bed,” Corvo whispered.

Daud hummed, the low sound reverberating through his chest as though through Corvo’s own.

*

Corvo slept well, but it wasn’t his alarm that woke him in the morning, nor frantic knocks at the door or Whalers with bad news – which was mostly how the past year of his life had regularly deigned to begin its days. Corvo simply blinked awake from one moment to the next, sleep’s hold weakening.

Waking next to Daud was neither routine nor commonplace, but fast growing deceptively familiar. They had shifted in their sleep, gravitating towards each other, until Daud was lying on his side, his back against Corvo’s chest, holding on to Corvo’s right arm wrapped around his waist; Corvo’s knees tucked up against the back of his thighs. He didn’t even have to stretch to nuzzle the nape of Daud’s neck, warm with sleep and the scent of his skin. Corvo took a deep breath, careful to exhale slowly so as not to disturb him.

Last night had been… overwhelming, in more ways than one. The things he'd done, bent on showing Daud the pleasure they were capable of, the  _noises_ Daud had made beneath him; trusting Corvo enough to put himself in his hands... Corvo had once hated being vulnerable in his presence, and now the Void pulsed inside him at Daud's touch, the circle complete. Daud had made no secret of his need, or his satisfaction, had opened himself to the connection between them; and yet Corvo could not help but wonder if he'd been holding something back. Something else.

_Finish it if I can’t._

His heart ached, unbidden. So long ago, Corvo had realised Daud’s honour in the promise he'd kept, given to Jessamine in the dead of night – with no witnesses, no-one to hold him to it. Daud had demanded it of himself. When Corvo looked at Daud now, he saw the same honour he had that night at the Hound Pits, but he saw dedication, too, and it staggered him. It was a heady realisation, but one that bore some forlornness. He could not confuse what had happened between them with what Daud had implied — from a man like Daud, sacrifice meant so much more than idle romance. Corvo knew, he would have died for Princess, then Empress, Jessamine even if he'd never fallen in love with her, and why? Because honour demanded it. He'd seen soldiers give their lives for one another too often to mistake devotion to a cause for something else now.

But then, of course  _this_... this was not part of the promise Daud had made to her. It wasn't honourable, either, it was his and Daud's own need, but was it more than that for Daud? Corvo shook his head at himself. What did it matter if it was? When the time came, Corvo would let him go, would watch as he sailed away and hope that he would one day return to him. Softly, he pressed a kiss against Daud’s neck, hair tickling his nose; and brushing his lips over Daud’s skin, he whispered the words that had been on the tip of his tongue for so long.

“Come back to me.”

He stopped himself there. Daud deserved to hear it, properly, even if he didn’t feel the same. Corvo laid his cheek on Daud’s shoulder and closed his eyes. They still had a bit more time.

*

Not that long after, he was woken again, but this time by Daud turning in his embrace and nosing at his jaw, laying a lazy kiss on his throat and making snuffling sounds that reminded Corvo more of a sleep-addled wolfhound than a grown man. Daud’s long limbs now wrapping around Corvo were definitely human, but then he whined low in his throat at being forced into wakefulness and Corvo had to bite his lip to hold in the amusement that threatened to escape.

Before he was quite awake, he began slowly stroking his hand up and down Daud’s back, feeling the warm skin erupt in goose bumps at his touch.

“No,” Daud mumbled.

“No?” Corvo questioned lightly, stilling the movements of his hand.

Daud huffed. “You, yes. Morning, no.”

Corvo hummed, resuming his caresses. “I don’t remember you being this incoherent at the Hound Pits, and we were up before dawn a lot.”

Another gust of breath escaped Daud, and it might have been a laugh. “I don’t remember you waking in my bed before dawn there, either,” he returned, his voice dragged low; and Corvo’s world stuttered.

“Did—did you want me to?” he asked hesitantly.

“Thought more about falling asleep in yours,” Daud rumbled.

“Is that so,” Corvo said, his throat tight, and before he lost his nerve, he took his hand away from Daud’s back and reached for his face instead, tilting his chin up. Daud blinked his eyes open and so Corvo kissed him as intently as he knew how.

Daud let him, breathing deep then pressing back – but calmly, without urgency, just pulling himself closer with his arms tightening around Corvo’s back. Corvo knew there lay unbridled passion dormant between them, knew just where to put his hands (or, he recalled with warmth rising in his cheeks, his mouth) to draw it out of Daud as quickly as it had burnt them up the night before, but that wasn’t what this was about.

Eventually, they parted, Daud with a low sigh that tugged on Corvo’s heartstrings. He chanced a glance at the bedside clock.

“Ten more minutes,” he murmured.

Daud grumbled, his nose twitching when it brushed against strands of Corvo’s hair. Corvo bit his lip and wondered if he should dare, but then threw caution to the wind and leaned forward to drop a kiss on the tip of Daud’s nose. Daud’s eyes flew open – in surprise, but not reproach, and Corvo stifled a grin. He knew very well he was insufferable, Jess had told him so many times in the past.

“Watch it, Attano,” he said lowly; Corvo’s surname quickly starting to sound so very different from his lips. Corvo was surprised to realise how much he liked it – and how much he had appreciated it back when they’d first met. Everyone at Court save for most of the servants themselves simply called him Corvo, but not for familiarity or liking. He served the Empress, not them, and just for that impertinence they should have liked to call him ‘boy,’ for all that he was worth little more in their eyes and that they couldn’t call him _foreigner_. Yes, Daud’s calling him ‘bodyguard’ in the beginning had been to mock and, eventually, tease, but it was no hardship considering that what one should normally expect from an assassin was a knife in one’s back and poison in one’s glass. To have Daud, the one furthest outside of society and yet having made his mark on it, insisting on addressing him more respectfully than most, when Daud himself had no other names than the one the shadows whispered and the one the posters plastered in the streets cried out along with his crimes… Now, in Daud’s rough tones, his name was becoming an endearment Corvo didn’t quite know what to do with.

And so, as his thoughts wandered and Daud hid a mighty yawn behind his hand, ten minutes passed. The alarm rang. Hindered by Daud’s bulk in the way, Corvo prodded him. Daud twisted around onto his back to shut off the persistent ringing, sighing when silence fell once again and tempting Corvo with the sight of his bare chest.

“Up you get,” Daud said, stretching and then extricating himself from the blankets, as if to set a good example.

Corvo suppressed a sigh. Something else fast becoming familiar – watching Daud put on his mask as he slipped from his arms and out of bed. He knew he did the same (figuratively and, for the past year, quite literally), but he understood a little better now what the masks they wore did to the people around them.

***

With Emily joining them for breakfast, there was nothing left to do but wait for the arrival of the new High Overseer. Corvo watched and listened as Daud and Emily kept up the conversation for the majority of the meal, which mostly consisted of Emily peppering Daud with questions, which he answered with the patience Corvo now knew to expect of him, having seen him exert the same equanimity with the youngest of the Whalers.

Corvo and Emily were to receive Yul Khulan, the Abbey’s new High Overseer, in the library, where they had also hosted the trade delegation from Tyvia. Daud had objected to Corvo’s office, citing the risks – what if Khulan himself, or one of his aides, had orders from the Oracular Sisters? Corvo himself disliked the idea because, aside from high shelves, there were no suitable hiding places. The thought of Daud perching overhead like an overgrown bird amused him, perhaps inappropriately. Still, he wanted to be there, and neither Corvo nor Emily would deny him.

And besides, a dais of a sort had been constructed in the library, providing Emily with a throne elevated on simple wooden steps draped with fabric emblazoned with, for the time being, her mother’s imperial seal altered to include the letters ‘EK.’ As such, she was on eye level with those seeking an audience, as everyone would tower over her otherwise, regardless of whether they were standing or sitting down opposite her. Checking now that everything was as it should be, Corvo took up his position just to the side of Emily’s seat.

In their first meeting, Khulan had seemed… kind, most of all. A peaceful man, strong in his convictions and his faith, but measured in his approach to those not ordained. A man who wished to protect, rather than punish those deemed wicked by arbitrary interpretation of the Strictures. Khulan had made no mention of Corvo’s situation and suspected affiliations at the time, and perhaps he had not known. Now that he was High Overseer, he surely did. Martin’s rivals and detractors had no doubt inured him with evidence – concerning the attack on the Hound Pits pub, concerning the source of their information. Daud’s right hand, no less, who’d sold him out. It must have made their mouths water.

The question now was whether Khulan himself would be calling for Corvo’s severed hand.

“Your Majesty,” the steward addressed Emily as the new High Overseer was admitted entrance to the library. “High Overseer Yul Khulan of the Abbey of the Everyman.”

Corvo turned his attention from where Daud was prowling the stacks overhead towards the new High Overseer. Khulan entered, followed by two more Overseers dressed in similar garb as he was wearing. Not his traditional Overseer robes, as he was now ordained with the highest office, but still reminiscent of the uniforms worn in Tyvia. Decidedly, Corvo noted, not those worn by Dunwall’s Warfare Overseers. He exchanged a quick glance with Emily, nodding imperceptibly.

“Her Majesty Emily Kaldwin I,” the steward completed the introduction. Corvo had observed that the Tower staff lingered over some of these tasks these days – as if the absence of the royal family had cast into sharp relief how even such seemingly tedious details of protocol could be a comfort in dark times. Believing their Empress dead and the Princess missing, those days had looked gloomy, indeed.

“Your Majesty.” Khulan bowed gracefully, neither standoffish nor too deeply. “It is an honour.”

“High Overseer,” Emily returned the acknowledgement as instructed by good breeding (and Callista’s ruthless enforcement of it). “I welcome you to Dunwall. It is our hope,” she said, including Corvo with a quick glance, “that together, the Crown and the Abbey can work to restore the Empire’s peaceful union.” (Corvo had advised against using the word ‘order’ anytime soon, as Hiram Burrows had been so rather fond of it. As for the rest of it, Emily had proven to be a fast learner, picking up the way the adults around her expressed themselves in Court with frightening ease. Corvo and her advisors still provided her with scripts, so to speak, but she showed no sign of needing them even when improvising during council meetings.)

“I thank you, and it is my wish as well, to see the Empire prosper and its people recover in harmony,” Khulan replied, striking the same tone he had used during his first meeting with Corvo. He regarded Emily with kindness and respect, not condescension. Corvo knew what that looked like on people faced with a child Empress.

Emily smiled, and nodded towards Corvo approvingly. Khulan stepped before him, his hand extended in greeting.

“Lord Protector,” Khulan addressed him. “In truth, I had not expected to meet with you again so soon.”

“High Overseer,” Corvo returned the courtesy, shaking his hand. “I trust the morning of your official appointment finds you well.”

“It does, by the grace of the Strictures,” Khulan nodded. “Although I must confess it has all been rather… abrupt.”

“Perhaps,” Corvo inclined his head. “It's important to keep an even keel, now.” Watching Khulan closely, Corvo was pleased to see that he seemed to lack the grandiosity of so many Overseers appointed to high office.

“Indeed,” Khulan agreed readily. “To that end, Your Majesty,” he included Emily with a gesture, and waited for her to acknowledge him before continuing, “I propose to scale back the enclave of Warfare Overseers in Dunwall. We are not at war, but that is how the people look upon us. They fear us, when we should provide guidance and trust. My predecessor, High Overseer Campbell,” Khulan confirmed Corvo and Daud’s suspicions regarding the Abbey’s official records, “was very fond of the Ancient Music as well. I am not. The Music Boxes will be removed from Dunwall and returned to the Abbey’s armouries across the Isles.”

Corvo and Emily exchanged another glance.

“I was taught in my lessons that all Overseers were Warfare Overseers,” Emily pushed politely, but firmly. Corvo stuffed down his pride at her gumption in questioning the highest-ranking member of the Abbey on his definitions five minutes after meeting him.

Khulan nodded, giving no sign of taking offence. “The meaning is largely synonymous, Your Majesty, and certainly all Overseers are trained in the basic handling of weapons and combat. But it is my hope that the clergy might address and care for its parish without pistols and grenades strapped to their belts.”

“Is that what you would provide? Guidance?” Corvo couldn’t help but ask a question of his own; performing a deferential nod in Emily’s direction to pardon the interruption, which she granted with a wave of her hand. “And would that be towards the welfare of all, or against the Outsider as the spectre haunting us and causing all our ills?”

Khulan visibly straightened, but managed to keep his expression open. “I see you are well-versed, Lord Protector.”

“Not so much that as I am aware of the practice of blaming an imaginary god serving in the same vein as accusing those who are afflicted with rather more worldly troubles of heresy,” Corvo pressed on. “Instead of simply reaching out a hand to help,” he finished, deliberately abandoning five-coin words to make his point. In their first meeting, Khulan struck him as someone not to mince words with if one wanted to be taken seriously. He hoped now that he had not miscalculated.

His intention seemed not lost on Khulan, who tilted his head in acknowledgement, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “In strange times, the Abbey must be a beacon to all who seek its fortitude and protection; and any who will ask shall receive it. I hope for the Cure as any other citizen of Gristol,” he continued. “Until then, the Order will help restore alms-houses and orphanages, and help take care of those who have lost their families and homes to the Plague.”

“We wish for the Abbey and the Crown to work together in this,” Emily cut in, raising her chin. “I want to make sure that the resources that are at our disposal go to the affected families directly. Too many people tried to profit from the chaos while our attention was elsewhere.”

“You are right, Your Majesty. I would like to offer my own services as part of your council to address this matter, as well as to answer any questions about the Strictures and the Abbey’s teachings you might have. I know that you have an excellent staff of advisors, and I am no friend of unsolicited advice. But please know that, should you ever require my assistance, it is yours.”

Emily acknowledged his words with a nod. “Corvo is my best counsel,” she said matter-of-factly, turning to look up at him, but her eyes briefly flickered over his shoulder, towards where only they knew Daud was hiding above, and Corvo had to rein in the smile that threatened to overtake him at the implication. “But your offer is greatly appreciated, High Overseer. I shall take you up on it.”

The High Overseer bowed. Then, he hesitated. A man of his stature, unsure of his words?

“If I may, Your Majesty… when might we expect the Cure?”

Corvo tensed. Ever since his “visit” to the lab two weeks ago, Piero had not called him down again, and he had seen neither hide nor hair of Hypatia and Sokolov. He had reported what they’d told him – in between the spurs of their argument – to Emily, of course, but something about the question still set his teeth on edge.

‘Three members of the Academy of Natural Philosophy are working tirelessly to produce an elixir to cure the ravages of this horrible disease’ – that was the official line repeated to enquiring journalists and diplomats alike. Corvo had the fleeting suspicion that Khulan would not be satisfied with such a rote reply.

If Emily felt wrong-footed by the question, she didn’t show it. Corvo and Daud had impressed upon her before her return to the Tower that she not be seen looking to Corvo for help during official audiences. If she was uncertain of her answer, there were enough deflecting responses to be made until she could confer with them behind closed doors.

“Do you know Anton Sokolov?” Emily asked, and Corvo wished for his mask, if only because it might have let him raise a brow at her strategy.

“I know of him,” Khulan said, “which I must admit is precisely why I felt compelled to ask. There has been speculation, Your Highness, regarding Sokolov’s… methods.”

Corvo ground his teeth, his thoughts turning inwards. Khulan’s words were not an implicit accusation of Emily, not yet, but there were those who would name her – or her mother before her – an accomplice to Sokolov’s dubious reputation; his personal failings aside. The truth was, Sokolov had been forbidden from experimenting on human subjects shortly after the advent of the Plague; Jessamine herself had signed the decree. Sokolov, of course, had made his opinions known publicly, had mocked especially Dr Galvani, who had taken to experimenting on the plague rats themselves. Corvo and Jessamine had had no illusions that Sokolov had to have had his ways of conducting illegal experiments; and she hadn’t wanted to have him arrested without being able to follow through on punishment. That, however, had been impossible, in the interest of producing a cure.

But even now, with experiments on rat specimens banned from the lab here at the Tower and both Piero and Hypatia involved in the search for an improved formula, rumours persisted of illicit serum trials using infected humans – and worse, healthy ones. Whispers in the street insisted that they had seen petty criminals hauled out of Coldridge and locked up in abandoned houses, only for Sokolov to pluck one or two of them from the group in the middle of the night and turn their bones to jelly inside them, or their blood to stone.

It was nonsense – and Corvo knew, as he had been having Sokolov followed; an agent on his tail whenever he left the Tower District on his own.

“Speculation,” Emily reminded Khulan curtly. “Exactly.”

In any other child, such an answer would have been cause for a scolding. In an Empress, even one so young, it was a warning – to tread lightly.

Going by the look on his face, High Overseer Khulan was by no means a fool.

***

“I like him,” Emily announced once they were in Corvo’s office. Daud dropped in through the window a moment later.

“He’s not useless,” Daud agreed, walking up and coming to stand right behind the chair Emily had sat down in.

Corvo raised a brow. “You said that about me once.”

Daud, of course, played dumb. “Did I?”

“To my face,” Corvo snipped, much to Emily’s amusement. She knew now what it meant when they bickered, where early on she’d still looked between them, searching for signs of an awful argument that might tear everything apart in the wake of losing Jessamine.

“Ah,” Daud said drily. Between them, Emily giggled. It was this that drew Daud’s gaze down to her. “It’s time for your lessons.”

Corvo watched as Emily pouted, tilting her head back to look at Daud, face upside-down as he was looming above her. “So?” she asked, sounding sullen, and before Corvo could reprimand her, Daud clenched his fist, his Mark flaring to life.

“So I have to book it,” he deadpanned – and then, vanished. Corvo gnashed his teeth at Daud using his powers like this in front of Emily, but a moment later the door opened without warning.

It was one of Emily’s tutors, Master Harrington, a middle-aged scholar of conservative political leanings and, regrettably, no manners. Corvo knew well enough that Master Harrington disapproved of Jessamine’s choice in Royal Protector as much as he did of Emily’s uncertain heritage.

“Your Majesty, please pardon the interruption,” Harrington addressed Emily and then, as if it were an afterthought (a calculated one at that), glanced at Corvo. “Corvo.”

“Master Harrington,” Corvo greeted him politely enough. “Thank you for rearranging your schedule.” Corvo swallowed the offer that, if Harrington was dissatisfied tutoring the Empress of the Isles, they could always send for one of his colleagues from the Academy.

“Of course,” Harrington assured him in a tone that implied quite the opposite. “Miss Curnow told me I would find you here. If you would like to accompany me to the classroom, Your Highness?”

With speed belied by her reluctant expression, Emily stood from the chair and made her way towards her teacher. “Of course,” she said sweetly, forcing Corvo to suppress the twitch in his cheeks. “I’ll see you later, Corvo,” she tossed over her shoulder, and Corvo bowed shallowly at her retreating back. Harrington threw him a pinched look, but watched as Emily passed and then closed the door behind them.

Corvo didn’t have to wait long before Daud appeared at his shoulder. “At least she doesn’t like him,” he grated. “Pompous oaf. The way he speaks to you—”

“He barely speaks to me,” Corvo interrupted if just to divert Daud’s obvious irritation.

“Not funny,” Daud barked, puzzling Corvo with how much this seemed to rile him.

Then, he remembered Daud’s reaction whenever Sokolov leered at him and made a disparaging comment about his ‘pretty face.’ Remembered Daud’s words as he’d given him the medal he’d found, the Naval Commendation tossed onto the junk heap when half the city thought he’d merely failed his purpose, and the other half accused him of murdering their Empress himself. The truth was, the commendation didn’t mean an inch of what Corvo had felt to hear Daud tell him to be proud of who he was. There were days when the notion felt insurmountable.

“Wasn’t trying to be,” Corvo echoed Daud’s retort from the night before, and it was a near thing, but Corvo deluded himself he could _see_ Daud’s demeanour soften.

“Careful,” Daud drawled then, eyes clear and cutting.

“Of what?” Corvo asked, caught by those eyes as he was by his smile – or his snarl.

“Of mistaking me for your knight in shining armour,” Daud growled, still not looking away, letting Corvo have the words on the surface and what was beneath them, too.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Corvo murmured, gaze drawn to the twist of Daud’s lips. Could beauty be cruel? Perhaps it was time to find out. Corvo leaned in without thinking much about whether he should, pressed a kiss to the corner of Daud’s mouth – not to start something, nor to dangle a promise in front of Daud’s nose like a prize carrot before a cart ox. And they’d kissed lazily before, in Corvo’s bed, saying good morning, in Daud’s office, saying goodbye; but not like this. Sometimes, a kiss meant no more than what it was, was proof of no more than itself – and precisely that set it apart; time and a connection stronger than that which was implied by skin tacky with sweat and tangled sheets.

Daud barely moved an inch. When Corvo pulled back, there was still that look in his eyes, as if _daring_ Corvo to be ‘careful.’

“You have work to do,” Daud nodded towards the reports littering Corvo’s desk, brought in while they were in the library. It was an offer to leave him be – an offer Corvo did not want to take.

“Stay for lunch?” he asked.

Daud raised eyes to his, surprise unconcealed. He nodded.

So Corvo sat and worked, while Daud did the same across the desk – how often had they done this at the pub, Corvo thought, and still Daud had been surprised to know that Corvo sought his company just the same. They had shared this shape of solitude, Daud drawing up patrol schedules and Corvo watching Emily draw or, in her absence, taking over some of the inevitable paperwork; without conversation except for Daud muttering about the novices’ chicken-scratch handwriting. How long had they been friends then, and how long before either of them had noticed?

Was it different, having shared a bed – having shared themselves? In a sense, because it had to be. When Daud settled down to read, one ankle on his knee, his furrowed brow smoothed out, Corvo knew there was a place inside his chest he should leave untouched; the part of him that wondered whether Daud felt the same longing, saw it in Corvo's eyes and took it inside himself to entwine it with his own.

Corvo did not like to presume.

Daud would leave him, whether he loved him or not. Corvo would not make it harder for them both by asking what he could not take back; he'd already said too much last night, letting his mouth run away with him. Telling him he would like for him to stay was no proof of love, however. Besides, would Daud believe him? Or would he think him cruel in his honesty? In love, honesty was undoubtedly cruel as it tore open your chest and either took what you weren’t prepared to relinquish – or gave you more than you could take; and only then watched you die of a broken heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) I just LOVE torturing you all with different definitions of love — because neither Corvo nor Daud will ever presume, "Yes, he loves me," until they actually hear the words out loud. And I love it not only because it gives me leave to explore things like devotion and sacrifice separately from romance, but also because it really puts in the foreground that, while they are totally wild about each other, the basis of their relationship is the friendship they built over the past year.  
> Like, yes, the fact that they react to each other so intensely physically (especially in Daud’s case, who for the purpose of this fic I headcanon as demisexual) might be a huge neon sign that they each caught a huge bucket of disgusting feelings, but concepts like honour play such an important role in this universe. So Corvo, dimwit that he is, will literally believe that Daud does what he does for the dead as much as the living before he lets anyone who isn’t Daud convince him that Daud’s in love with him, no matter how hard he came last night.  
> b) Daud, of course, won’t believe that Corvo will ever love anyone but Jess, even if he cares for someone he’s also openly physically attracted to, because who could ever love the Knife of Dunwall? Don’t be ridiculous.  
> c) And, finally: they’re both REALLY GOOD AT DENIAL. Holy shit.  
> d) Another thing I love: Corvo is as disgustingly schmoopy with Daud as he was with Jess, kissing his nose. Daud may be a fearsome assassin, but Jessamine was the damn Empress, alright.  
> e) That whole bit where Daud reminds Emily it's time for her lessons — Dad!Corvo, Dad!Daud, and their Knife Daughter. I may cry.


	16. Who by his own hand (Daud)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud has made his choices. He's ready for what comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, we're finally going to Brigmore! Thank you so much to everyone who's still riding this train with me, it's now been EIGHT MONTHS since I started writing this in the fevered haze of tonsillitis medication and sage tea and I'm still having the time of my life; and a lot of that is down to you, your kind comments, your freak-outs over dumb-dumbs who won't admit their feelings, and your encouragement in re: further installments in this series. <3 <3 <3
> 
> This week, we have two songs to add to the playlist:  
> 1) For Delilah — [Florence + The Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gJ50rvySDCk&index=32&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN)  
> 2) For Daud — [Stealth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_9NLcyAblY&index=33&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN)  
> PROTIP: perhaps don't listen to the second one until after you've finished the chapter, as it's a little spoilery.
> 
> Two more chapters to go, Corvo next week and then Daud's epilogue the week after. I'll have started writing Part 3 by the time that goes up! Exciting!
> 
> Early upload this week because a) I can't hold it in anymore and b) shit's busy so I'm just carving out time where I can. Yay!

Three days later, at Dunwall Tower, Daud stood across from Corvo in his rooms, Rulfio by the door giving final instructions to the Whalers who were staying here until they returned; Emily standing between them as they secured their weapons and bonecharms.

When Corvo was done, he smiled down at her, and she reached out her arms unabashedly. Corvo bent to pick her up, raising her above his head and making her squeal in spite of the situation. Daud hid his smile but didn’t look away, watched as Corvo reeled Emily in and kissed her cheek. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him tight.

“Please be careful,” she whispered just loud enough for Daud to hear.

Corvo nodded, squeezing back. He set her down, stroking her hair. Emily turned to Daud, looking up at him with concern in her eyes; and he floundered. He was not the type to pick her up and twirl her around and tickle her the way he’d seen Corvo do. The only consolation, perhaps, was that she knew all of this about him. Still, before he could talk himself out of it, he did something he’d never done, not before any Empress or anyone else who believed themselves important. He knelt, bent the knee before her until they were eye to eye, and she could say whatever she wished to say.

Where he was expecting words, perhaps the same reminder she’d given Corvo, as it was one she’d passed on to him before, he was not prepared for her arms around him, her chin on his shoulder.

“I want you all back here by morning,” she told him in a serious tone.

“Your Highness,” he murmured, wondering who’d taught her such a grip when she held him tighter, just for a moment. She pulled back, then, and smiled a little.

“Very good,” she said, as if impersonating Callista approving of a student’s manners. Anything, Daud supposed, so as not to sound like a frightened child.

“Rinaldo, Kieron, Montgomery, Jenkins, and Misha are going to guard Corvo's quarters. Stay with Callista at all times,” he repeated what Corvo had doubtlessly told her half a dozen times already; Daud didn’t care if he bored her. “More Whalers will be stationed outside, covering the Tower grounds. If anything happens, you find Rinaldo.”

She nodded. “I know.” Not taking Rinaldo with them to Brigmore had been a difficult decision, as he was one of Daud’s best. But Daud also knew he would be better off here, keeping an eye on Emily, instead of at a witch’s manor, worrying about the charge he’d left behind. This was why the Whalers had never taken protection jobs – you stayed too long in one place and you got attached. Even heartless bastards such as them.

Rulfio stepped into Daud’s line of sight behind Emily. Satisfied with the precautions they’d taken, Daud stood and nodded for him to speak.

“The men are ready, sir.”

At his side, Corvo put on his mask.

 _I’ve made my choices_ , Daud thought. _I’m ready for what comes._

***

“Tell your men to make themselves useful,” Stride cut the words at him as they stepped aboard the Undine. Daud looked over his shoulder at Rulfio, Galia, Thomas, Aedan, Rapha, and Fergus, and only had to jerk his head towards Lizzy’s crew. The Whalers moved as one, transversing across the deck. The Undine’s sailors blinked for a moment, then shrugged and handed them the tasks that needed doing – lugging crates or maintaining the engine, if Daud had to guess.

“Will take about three hours to get to Brigmore,” Lizzy’s boatman informed him and Corvo, who’d brought up the rear and was now beside Daud. “Once we’ll be gettin’ close to the blockade, you and yours better go below deck and not make a sound.”

“And if the officers insist on an inspection?” Corvo asked.

“Then you’ll share a fate with our cargo,” Lizzy reappeared, satisfied that the Whalers weren’t mucking up her ship. “Out through the hatch. I hope you and your Royal Protector,” here she cut Corvo a dirty look, for all that he’d worked to disrupt her business in his official capacity in the past, “can hold your breath.”

“Don’t worry,” Daud narrowed his eyes at her. “Long as your crew can hold their tongues.”

“Oh, they can. They know they’ll lose them otherwise,” Lizzy smirked. “Oh, and you should know: there’s been witches around the past few days. They’ve been watching.” She turned away, and Daud could hear Corvo sigh, then the sequence of clicks that foretold the removal of the mask.

“How did she know?”

Daud shrugged. “Stride’s not stupid.” But already his thoughts were elsewhere. Witches watching – Delilah would know they were coming within the hour.

*

Not much fond of boats, Daud concentrated on the unmoving horizon instead of the rocking of the ship beneath their feet. Corvo kept close to him, a solid presence at his shoulder, and Daud remembered the Naval Commendation that had been waiting for Corvo upon his return from the Isles. More than an empty, obligatory honour, as Daud now knew. Corvo, as a junior officer serving in the Grand Serkonan Guard, had fought not only street gangs but pirates, too, bands of smugglers scattered across the chain of islands just off the coast of Serkonos.

He’d told him about that only a few days before, in his quarters – had asked him to stay for lunch, after turning Daud’s heart to lead in his chest by kissing him... just because he could. They’d shared silence and some conversation, Corvo asking about the state of the Undine, as the subject had escaped them upon Daud’s arrival the night before. Daud felt his cheeks warm to think of why, and wondered at himself for that, too.

They’d not truly been alone since, and Daud had spent the past three nights in his own bed at the pub, struggling not to use the memories of Corvo’s hands and mouth on him to help himself to rest when sleep eluded him. He would not be caught with his hands down his breeches for the first time in years (in more than perfunctory release, at least) just because he’d been bewitched by the charms of an honourable man.

‘I just wish you could stay,’ Corvo’s words were haunting him even now, and Daud cursed his own weakness for wanting to. How long could he stay after this? But that wasn’t the question. It was how long he would _have to,_ until everything was squared away and he and the Whalers that wanted to could get out of Dunwall. Lizzy would take them past the blockade one more time – he’d already promised her handsome payment to compensate for the Undine being overrun by assassins, seeing as this voyage here and now still counted as a _favour_.

The Whalers were trained to be ready to move at a moment’s notice, in case of discovery or danger, but it was one thing to move an operation to another part of the same district, or even across the city, and quite another to leave everything they had behind. In Daud’s case, this meant especially the archives. All of his notes and the Whalers' contracts, all told enough extortion material to ruin the next three generations of Dunwall’s upper crust. All of the people he’d killed. A city, drowning in its own blood and guts.

He would leave it all to Corvo, even if the notion of Corvo going through it searching for a way to deal with some recalcitrant noble or other and finding his disgust for an absent killer mount line by line set Daud’s heart to crack along the fault lines that he had no-one but himself to blame for carving into it.

How long did he have, then? A few weeks, a month and a half at best — or at worst, frankly, as Daud dreaded the thought of a slow, drawn-out goodbye, each new day a lie, each kiss a promise that would not be kept. (Dare he presume there would be kisses?)

Daud did not think of returning.

When it was time for them to head below deck, Corvo’s hand brushed on his on the way down into the brig.

*

After they’d successfully passed the blockade and Lizzy’s crew gave them the signal to come back up on deck, another hour to Brigmore, he felt Corvo’s hand on his elbow. He motioned for the Whalers to go ahead, watched as they transversed away, then turned around.

“What is—” was as far as he got before Corvo’s hands were on his face, broad palms and calloused fingers covering his cheeks and his neck, sure to feel his pulse begin to pound underneath the skin when Corvo’s mouth sealed over his.

Daud kissed back, as though there was nothing else he could do – nothing else he wanted in this moment than to feel Corvo’s tongue draw against his, opening himself to him shamelessly and feeling the Void inside him sing when Corvo abandoned patience and _took_ what he wanted. His own hands rose to Corvo’s waist and held on; tightly enough to bruise had they been naked, for what it was worth. Corvo grunted low in his throat when Daud tugged on his lower lip with his teeth, fingertips digging into the back of Daud’s neck in response.

Daud didn’t like to think that the Whalers up on deck might surmise why Corvo had tugged him back, but regardless of embarrassment, time was scarce. Slowly, he started pulling away, working to disentangle himself and failing when Corvo followed, chasing the taste of his lips.

“Mm-mh,” Daud made a sound that was needier than it had any right to be – especially here, especially now – and put one of his hands on Corvo's chest instead, pushing lightly. Corvo took it for the sign it was and let him go, his breathing quick and shallow. “What was that for?” Daud felt the words struggle to pass through his throat.

“I’ve barely seen you,” Corvo murmured, his eyes at half-mast.

To his shame, the first words on Daud’s tongue were, ‘Don’t be difficult;’ as though Corvo were some unfortunate barrister’s mistress. In his lifetime, Daud had borne witness to many more liaisons like that than any true of heart (let alone having had any of his own), and it showed. But he bit back the words, knowing that they—that he could do better. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Corvo’s in a lazy peck, if only lazy because he lingered too long.

“We finish this, we might even get an evening off, or two,” he said, hardly daring to make the promise, much less reference to the time between this and his… departure.

A familiar shadow crossed Corvo’s features, but was quickly chased away by a smile curling at the corners of his eyes. “Just an evening?” he teased, and Daud nearly groaned. Had the man no sense of timing?

“If you want a whole night out of me, you’d better arrange for dinner,” he threw the insinuation at Corvo’s feet with all the challenge of a glove, then bit his tongue. Too late, of course, and where was he _getting_ these things?

“Gladly,” Corvo agreed, already moving closer again when they heard a commotion from above. Then, quiet, until someone stomped their foot right on top of them, deliberately.

“Boss!” Fleet’s voice called down. Daud winced.

“Come on.” He stepped away from Corvo and turned to transverse up on deck. “What is it,” he barked, getting to finish the question this time.

Galia pointed towards the horizon. In the distance, where they knew Brigmore Manor had to be – clouds of smoke above the treeline. Daud drew his spyglass.

“By the Void, what’s she done?” he asked no-one in particular.

*

Brigmore Manor, now destitute, had once been a sprawling estate on the very edge of Dunwall, outside of the old city walls to the North, in the Mutcherhaven District. The family’s influence and fortune had been built on timber – they'd been content with lumber to be their future and secure their wealth for what had was supposed to have been centuries. But then, Edmund Roseburrow had discovered the hidden properties of whale oil, catapulting the Empire, but especially Gristol, into a new era. The Brigmores’ riches diminished and the manor abandoned, the house and grounds had been used by smugglers and gangs for years. And then, not too long ago, the witches had moved in.

Daud and the Whalers had never really bothered with them – they were neither allies, nor enemies, as least so long as they didn’t interfere with Daud’s business. Up until a year ago, that business had been indiscriminate murder. Today, things were different.

He and Corvo would enter the manor itself on their own. The Whalers had orders to remain outside and round up the witches on patrol. When Lizzy declared that they’d gotten as close to the estate as they could before the water became too shallow for the Undine’s keel, the assassins helped the crew let down one of the skiffs. Once it was down in the water and Rulfio transversed ahead, carrying two oars, Daud pushed away the reminder that he hated small boats even more than large ones.

“Not as green around the gills as you might have been,” Stride chose that moment to sidle up to him. He threw her a glare.

“Not for lack of trying on your part,” he grunted lowly.

“The Undine sails just fine,” Stride shot back without looking at him. Instead, her eyes wandered towards the smoke still rising from the general direction of the manor. “That doesn’t look good.”

“I suppose it’s too much to hope they burnt the place down,” Corvo cut in from Daud’s other side.

Daud looked at him over his shoulder. "Mask?"

Corvo nodded and unclipped it from his belt.

“We’re ready, boss,” Galia informed them then.

Daud nodded. “Go ahead.” He turned to Lizzy. “Thank you.”

Stride sneered. “Straight thanks out of your mouth? You better believe you’re coming back, old man, I won’t let you live it down.”

Daud rolled his eyes, then transversed down into the skiff without another word. He turned to look up at Corvo, who exchanged a few more words with Lizzy, then followed, landing gracefully beside Daud in the already crowded boat.

“Let’s go,” Daud gave the command to row.

Coming up closer to the house, they saw that the Wrenhaven must have broken the dam that should have kept the estate safe from flooding a long time ago. The large meadows had been turned into swampland, and Daud was sure they’d encounter more than one cluster of river krust all over the grounds – at least, if the witches had any sense, not inside the house.

Ducking low to get a look at the house below the treetops, Daud realised that at least one corner of the manor was a blackened husk. Next to him, Corvo hunkered down and followed his line of sight.

“Accident or strategy?” Corvo wondered aloud.

Daud could only shrug. “We’ll see.”

Once they had taken the skiff as far as it would go, they clambered out one by one, and Daud was glad to have firm ground under his feet once more, even if it was bogged-down marshland.

He immediately dispatched Rulfio to scout the area, then sent Rapha and Thomas to collect the favours they’d cashed in just days before. A stash of valuables was of less pressing interest, but better them than a band of smugglers who might disrupt their plans, Daud had decided; and then there was the story of the family’s old butler who’d tried to make off with the key. Silver and jewellery were all well and good – but keys were worth the weight of the doors and chests they unlocked in gold.

Keeping an eye on the grounds while the others were gone, Daud and Corvo counted as many witches as they could make out; along with a startling number of the scraggliest-looking hounds Daud had ever seen. They looked like half-desiccated corpses, and when Daud recognised the tendrils of the Void around them, he supposed that was what they were. The witches must have learnt to raise the dead – at least the animal kind. He shuddered to think what they might be capable of beyond even that.

“The hounds can be destroyed,” Rulfio said as soon as he materialised beside them; and to name it destruction rather than killing was apt. Those things were already dead to the world. “But you have to smash their skulls before they can rise again.”

Daud raised a brow.

“They keep inactive ones on the ground as traps,” Rulfio explained to his unspoken question. “Ran straight into one at the back of the house. Thankfully, none of the witches heard, and there was only the one still intact.”

“How much of the house did the fire tear down?” Corvo asked, his lenses never ceasing their shifting.

“The upper floor of the East wing, half of what’s below. It looks like whatever caused the fire was concentrated on one location, and the rest of the house is so damp and rotten it wouldn’t have caught fire in a desert.”

Daud watched Corvo frown. “Sounds like an explosion,” he supplied.

Corvo nodded. “But why?”

“Block access? Destroy evidence? Or perhaps one of them just set off their own traps; and there’s bound to be more of those. Delilah knows we’re coming,” Daud didn’t have to guess.

“About that,” Rulfio cut into his brooding. “There are more statues of her all over the grounds. She shifts, like the one you said did at the Timsh house.”

“What does that mean?” Fergus asked from the side.

“It means trouble,” Daud prophesied darkly.

They watched for a moment longer, but eventually they had no more time to waste. Daud gave Thomas, Rulfio, Aedan, and Fergus instructions on dispatching the witches patrolling the perimeter.

“Use bolts to take out inactive hounds from afar, but make sure no-one sees them shatter. Don’t waste your sleep darts on the witches out here; lure them apart by throwing rocks if you have to and then pick them off. Corvo and I are going to go inside on our own and clear out the house. Whatever Delilah’s planning, we have to make sure she doesn’t know how close we are, or it might set her off. So no pissing off the statues,” Daud warned them with a glare.

“Yes, boss,” Aedan answered in the others’ stead – at least coming from him, it didn’t sound like backtalk.

“Once Corvo and I know what she’s up to and are close to intercepting her, I’ll call you inside. Use the stun mines and all the darts you have to and put the rest of the house to sleep. We’ll take out as many as we can, but we don’t have time to waste on tucking them in for the night.”

“We understand, sir,” Thomas responded.

Daud nodded. “Then go.” As one, the four Whalers raised their fists over their hearts, then vanished. When Daud turned, he saw Galia and Rapha give Corvo the same salute in acceptance of his orders, and then they, too, vanished through the Void. Corvo had sent them towards the small family cemetery and the crypt.

Now alone, Daud stepped up to Corvo. “Ready?”

Corvo’s mask reflected nothing. “Ready.”

***

“And I thought the Flooded District was run down,” Daud grumbled after they’d crept in through the front door, which, in anyone else, Daud would have called brazen enough to be stupid. From the platform above the front door, they’d briefly watched the witches gathering on the patio. Their chatter revealed that they were anxious, but their faith in Delilah seemed absolute – for most. There was dissent within the ranks, as not all the witches who lived at Brigmore had been ‘made’ by Delilah. Some of them had been around for longer, and even though it was Delilah’s Mark that granted them the same powers she possessed, that didn’t mean they’d been powerless before her rise. A pity, Daud thought, that none of them seemed to be in the business of selling secrets. It seemed the shadow he had cast over Dunwall had been getting shorter, if there were now favours out of even his reach.

Most windows were boarded up, electricity long shut off, so even though the moon shone brightly enough outside, the interior of the house was masked by shadows.

They peered around the edge of a door leading away from the entrance hall, splintered and creaking with the damp that was slowly but surely rotting the house from the inside out. Two witches, armed, their skin changing colours every so often, were guarding the entrance and exchanging words from time to time. Through observation only, the Whalers had discovered that the patterns of flowers and the shifting hues of their skin indicated their abilities. Some could raise Blood Briars, others gravehounds from the dead of the Void. Again others shot the thorns from their wrists whose injury Daud had suffered.

Daud was counting the witches upstairs, as many as he could see through the ceiling anyway, in his grasp a flask of choke dust. Corvo leaned towards him incrementally and Daud's tilted his head, as if a compulsion had been instilled in him to listen.

"You'll have the whole house down," Corvo whispered.

Daud grinned, a sharp thing in the broken light spilling in through the half-covered windows. "It'll be quick."

He raised a hand to tap the stun mines strapped to his belt and understanding seemed to dawn on Corvo. With a dose of Bend Time and the mines they carried between them, each having been coaxed into delivering three independent charges by Sokolov, attracting as many as were within hearing range and leaving them unconscious without much effort... it sounded like a good plan. Considering it was their only plan. Beside him, Corvo's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

*

When the last of the witches’ screams died down, Daud listened, heart in his throat, as silence took over the house. When he was reasonably sure nothing was stirring in the dark, he turned to Corvo and signalled to begin gathering up the unconscious witches and hide their bodies nearby. Corvo nodded, getting to the task. They’d drawn all the witches within hearing range towards them from the ground floor and down from the first.

“Come on,” Daud whispered when the witches were tucked away out of sight and they were sure none of them could slip into the shallow water lapping at their boots and drown. Looking around, they found a few items that Daud pocketed more out of habit than genuine necessity. Some coins, but also a few family heirlooms – doubtlessly left behind and overlooked even by the more diligent smugglers Dunwall had to offer.

Glad to be able to get out of the water and the way it amplified every one of their steps, Daud led the way further into the house. Using Void Gaze to make sure they hadn’t missed anyone and other members of the coven weren’t coming to investigate, Daud took stock of their surroundings. Creeping up towards the first floor, Corvo suddenly stopped.

“A body,” he whispered, pointing down the hallway, and then to the right. Daud saw it, too.

“Doesn’t look like a witch,” he hissed back. Venturing further, Daud kept one of two stun mines he had left ready – in case the shadows shifted. No-one came, however, so they stole into the only room with a light source. A fire in the hearth, it turned out, and leaning against the wall only feet away: an Overseer, seemingly unconscious. Beside him were blankets spread out on the floor, covered in blood and bits of dead flesh.

“Void,” Corvo breathed.  “What happened here?”

“Notes,” Daud indicated the low table to the right. He went ahead to collect them while Corvo walked towards the Overseer, who roused slowly.

“Please. No. Don’t make me eat anymore. I can’t… Brother Marcus. I denounce. I denounce the Abbey!” Half-delirious, the Overseer mistook them for his captors. “Wandering Gaze. Lying Tongue. Restless Hands. Roving Feet. Ramp… Rampant Hunger,” the Overseer practically sobbed, and it wasn’t difficult to tell from the viscera beside him just what the witches had been feeding him. Daud picked up the first note.

> _I was unable to extract much from this one; he was well trained. Feeding him his former companion elicited mostly useless sounds and mess. I'll try again tomorrow unless he becomes violenty deranged, in which case I'll have little choice but to put him down._

“What happened to you?” Corvo’s voice was steady as he crouched next to the Overseer, making him feel at ease, when all Daud felt in the presence of a man of the Abbey was his flesh crawling with disgust and uneven memories of his childhood. His own way of phrasing that question would have been a lot less… sympathetic.

> _Brother Pradclif,_
> 
> _You are charged with surveillance of the Mutcherhaven District and surrounding estates. Travel there immediately and report all findings to the office of the High Overseer. If any signs of organized heresy are uncovered send for additional support; do not attempt to handle the situation alone. Remember the strictures and you will not fail._
> 
> _Overseer Cranton_

By the Outsider – this unlucky bastard had to have been here since before Martin’s death.

> _Here brother,_
> 
> _I've sent you one of the Strictures to guide you on your assignment to Brigmore. My hope is that heeding the warnings of the Sixth Stricture will be the utmost of your troubles while dealing with those heretics._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Bertram_

Daud sneered. The Sixth Stricture – Wanton Flesh. Of course. Even the so-called purest of the Abbey were happily deluding themselves that any woman would gladly lie with any man, even one of the faith. Unless, of course, dear Bertram was simply the jealous type.

“I denounce,” the Overseer continued in a frightened whisper, as if he hadn’t heard. “I denounce the oracles. The oracles… they… they saw. The Kaldwin girl is the key. The girl in the painting.”

Now, even Daud perked up to listen.

“Where is Delilah?” Corvo pressed.

“The Seven Strictures are seven lies. The High Overseer is the whelp of a wolfhound bitch. The Seven Strictures are seven lies. Seven lies. Seven lies.” Overseer Pradclif continued to mutter under his breath. There was nothing more to be had from him.

“He’s been sent to the district to search for signs of heresy. The witches must have captured him and his partner early on, then tortured them for information,” Daud passed on what he'd gleaned from the notes.

Corvo didn’t ask what had happened to the second Overseer. “Did he give them anything?”

Daud shook his head no. “They call him ‘well-trained.’ And he’s not much use to us anymore, either.”

“What should we do with him?” Corvo framed the question so innocently, as though he didn’t know that, in Daud’s book, an Overseer less in the world generally meant better sleep for everyone else.

But they didn’t have the time. “Knock him out,” Daud suggested. “Take him back to the city. Who knows, High Overseer Khulan might see fit to owe you a favour.”

*

Burrowing deeper into the house, they snuck past a group of witches, too tightly clustered to draw them away one by one, especially in the ankle-high water. Instead, they took to higher ground, leaving Daud to choke out one of Delilah's acolytes as they rounded the corner. It was clear that this floor had been recently used, until the ceiling between this and the lower corridor had caved in. Besides, seeing as the witches had their own version of Transversal and Blink, there were things to find everywhere – elixirs, coin, personal belongings. More damned notes.

> _I've ordered the lantern be placed in my studio in the west wing. Use it to enter the painting only if your situation is dire. I will be busy preparing for the ritual and cannot be disturbed. I trust you can handle Daud and Corvo should they materialize._
> 
> _— Delilah_

“We have to find her studio. It’s in the West Wing.”

Corvo Blinked ahead. “This way, then.”

Daud had been right about the traps – the way up into the attic was littered with tripwires latched to whale oil tanks. Together, they blinked across the wires and disarmed the closest triggers until they’d cleared every last one. Finally, in the corner, sat several easels, bookshelves, and a lantern glowing with the eerie violet of the Void.

“Emily,” Corvo reached the easels first. “These are sketches, half-finished paintings.”

“And not just of Emily,” Daud realised as he picked up more cuts of canvas and paper. His heart felt as though turned to ash in his chest. “She was drawing Jessamine before this.”

“What,” Corvo twisted to see. “How? What did she know?”

Daud searched the stacks of books for answers, finding one that looked enough like a journal and began to read aloud.

> _When I first began having visions of young Lady Emily being crowned Empress – being crowned as a child, I knew that my original plans of capturing the spirit of Jessamine were forfeit. She would not live to see the world through my eyes; but I had no way of knowing what would take her. The Plague, her ill-fated affair with her own bodyguard… an assassin. So many possibilities, and they all would have been the same to me._
> 
> _In a trance, the name ‘Daud’ came to me as though a raven on the wind. But ravens are flighty creatures, and I knew not to be too sure. Another vision led me right to Hiram Burrows. That shrivelled prick. Is Daud the one, then, to end sweet Jessamine’s life? He must be._
> 
> \---
> 
> _Jessamine is dead._
> 
> _When Daud took Emily with him, I was terrified that he might already know what I was planning. But it seems I overestimated him._
> 
> _He took up with the Loyalists instead, aiding the Royal Protector — and more besides. What a fool! Once young Emily truly assumes the throne I'll already be looking out of those lovely brown eyes._
> 
> \---
> 
> _The most honourable High Overseer Campbell was only too happy to agree to my suggestion of… cooperation. I have no doubt that as soon as my ‘usefulness’ has run its course, he will send his men after all of us. Let them know what fools they are._
> 
> _I have finally found Daud’s weakness — he harbours greater sentiment than for Corvo and Emily only for one other. His second in command. It was almost too easy, Billie so ready to give him up. Says she sees how miserable he is when he should just shrug it off, sees his attachment when he’s not even aware of it._
> 
> _So much anger, so much bitterness I can sense in her. Between his betrayal and the plan to save poor Jessamine failing, he ruined the Whalers’ chances of survival._
> 
> \---
> 
> _Lurk failed, that foolish girl. Too caught up in her feelings for her old man to see the truth – that he was holding her back, and would have killed her if he’d known. But no matter. Breanna and I are close to finishing all preparations for the ritual. She is the only one I can truly trust with this. My darling Breanna — I caught her on her way to the altar, on her way to misery and death. She can't be present while I complete the ritual, but it is thanks to her that it will succeed. Once I am on the throne, she shall be the first that I seek out._
> 
> \---
> 
> _Brunhilde came to me last night while I was in my studio in the west wing, finishing the ritual painting of young lady Emily. She informed me that one of our girls allowed herself to get caught and interrogated at Coldridge Prison._
> 
> _Nevertheless, it seems Daud and Corvo are oblivious to my plans._
> 
> \---
> 
> _When Pretty Emily woke one day_  
>  _She saw the world a different way_  
>  _Her eyes now looked with a stranger's guile_  
>  _Her dainty mouth smiled a stranger's smile_
> 
> _Her hands now worked the stranger's wrath_  
>  _Her feet now walked a stranger's path_  
>  _Emily fed, another grew stronger_  
>  _The stranger's cravings drove her onward,_
> 
> _And no one who looked on Emily's face  
>  Ever guessed who ruled in Emily's place._
> 
> \---
> 
> _Now that the painting is finished, I will sit in young lady Emily's skin and wear her face like a mummer's mask. Delilah. The kitchen girl from Dunwall Tower. They called me Sokolov's apprentice, but whose paintings reach through to the spirit? Mine. They will never know how close they came, but I will be sure to whisper it into their ears at their executions. Daud and Corvo’s first. Perhaps I'll cry and tell everyone what they were carrying on behind closed doors._
> 
> _My followers will bear the lantern to the gallery in order to open the way to the Void. There, I will use the painting to complete the ritual. My walk into Emily's flesh must be undisturbed._
> 
> _The ritual has other uses, which I will explore over time. Any image made by my hand could serve as the focal point for the spell. I imagine one of my enemies as a still life, imprisoned in a bowl of fruit without amusement._

Daud had little time for hatred in his life – he knew contempt, and disregard for those who would presume themselves his masters. But what he felt for Delilah now… it came close.

Beside him, Corvo had removed his mask. He was white as a sheet. Daud moved in close, seeking his gaze.

“Corvo,” he rasped, calling to him through the haze he knew must have settled over his mind and heart. When Corvo’s eyes settled on him, Daud raised his hand, letting instinct guide him to raise a hand to lay it against Corvo’s chest. “I feel as you do,” he said quietly. “But we have to hurry.”

Corvo nodded, but Daud noticed that his hands were trembling. He reached out, then, to take the mask from him.

“You know what to do,” Daud told him, calm now that he knew that Corvo needed him to be. “Banish Delilah. Survive. Here.” Carefully, Daud helped Corvo put the mask back on. He remembered Corvo's half-realised panic the day Thomas had come racing towards them across the rooftops to warn them of the Overseer attack. Same as then, he didn't worry about Corvo — he knew he would be steady in a fight, stronger even for the fact that Emily was in danger. He worried, rather, for the bad dreams he knew it would cause Corvo later; and, if he dared consider it, himself as well.

***

The gallery was buried deep in the West wing of the manor, secured with more traps and guarded by two witches, talking excitedly about the ‘Change.’ It was up here that Daud finally summoned the Whalers to their side. Corvo was carrying the lantern.

“We have to go into the Void to interrupt the ritual. Round up the remaining witches, do not let any of them leave. If they try to escape, use lethal force if necessary.”

“What are you gonna do, boss?” Galia asked with a nod towards the lantern.

“We’ll figure something out.” Daud dismissed them with a nod, but they didn’t move. “Do you need an invitation,” he growled.

Silence. Then, Thomas spoke softly, “Shouldn’t one or two of us come with you? There aren’t that many witches left.”

“Too great a presence in the Void and we might lose the advantage,” Daud bit out. “Now do the job as you were told and do not question my planning again.”

“Of course, sir,” Thomas nodded, suitably chastised.

“Good. Now…” Daud deliberately let the words dangle in the air, and this time, they didn’t need to be told twice. They disappeared.

“Come on,” Corvo prompted, his equilibrium restored even as his knuckles where almost white, so tight his grip on the lantern.

Circumventing the traps and knocking out the two witches guarding the gallery, Daud and Corvo stepped up to a large, opaque painting of what looked to be… nothing.

“I suppose we use this,” Corvo murmured, then waved the lantern before the canvas. In swirling colours, it revealed an entrance to the Void.

“In we go.”

“How?”

“Remember how I told you to let the Void reach for you?” Daud remembered only too well how Corvo had barely trusted him that day, and yet had let him guide him through discovering his connection with the realm of death, and of beginning itself. The cradle and the grave.

“Yes.”

“Today, we reach for the Void.”

And so they did.

When their eyes adjusted to the blinding light, they saw that they were caught in between – beyond their own realm, but not quite in the Void. A gaping hole in the floor, just as in Delilah’s painting, and hovering above – of course.

 _You have many talents, and they've served you_ , the Outsider greeted them, his arms crossed over his chest and looking down at them with calculated indifference. _Delilah's talents are quite different. She creates images, but she does more. She captures spirit, she insinuates her will into her subject, whatever it is. We're witnessing her masterpiece, and perhaps yours as well._

_I gave Daud Delilah's name, Corvo, and you followed it with him to this moment. You see now what hangs in the balance – Emily's life, Delilah's ambition, an empire in the act of crumbling. I don't play favourites. But in my long life I've rarely seen anyone like you act with such consummate grace._

_And Daud – there are times when I delight in seeing lives end and chaos spread, but the path you've taken here honours your skills. I give my Mark sparingly, Daud. I've seen it used for power, for love, for money. For strange obsessions that drove the wearer mad. But very, very rarely, for redemption._

“Are you done,” Daud growled.

 _For your sake, let us assume I am. And now, for both of you – a leap of faith._ With those words, the Void god vanished.

 _Leap of faith_ , Daud repeated them in his mind. Faith in whom?

* * *

 

“Time to see what you’ve really got, Delilah,” Daud rumbled when he and Corvo found themselves in the Void. Arguably, Delilah’s version of it was a lot less cloudy. For all that the Void had no sky, this one was bright and blue, an unseen sun shining. There were flowers everywhere.

They’d come to on what seemed to be an island floating in the Void, stone steps leading further inwards. Silently, the crept closer, getting a sense of their surroundings. Of course, there were more statues of Delilah acting as sentinels here, too. Careful to avoid them, they moved to higher ground once again. Stone columns provided them with some protection as they watched Delilah put the finishing touches to what was arguably a beautiful painting of Emily – if beauty encompassed the terror of losing one’s mind to the invasion and subjugation of the spirit.

_"Emily Kaldwin, daughter of Jessamine Kaldwin, heir to the Empire of the Isles, I call out to you from the Void. I call you with ochre from Morley, carmine beetle shells, Serkonan lazurite, veridium bile. The tones of your flesh I tempered with Pandyssian chalk. The same loom that spun the fabric of your dresses made this canvas. I made my brushes with the hair from your own scalp. Emily, you cannot ignore me. My power is too deep, my reach too long.”_

Daud ground his teeth. Delilah would not live to see the day to see her vow fulfilled. He’d make sure of it. Suddenly, he felt Corvo’s hand on his arm.

“Daud. Over there,” Corvo pointed towards a smaller island, barely connected to this one. From afar, he could make out several more paintings – one of what must be the piece of the Void they were standing on. Delilah had created it. He exchanged a look with Corvo. Surely, they were thinking the same thing.

“Switch them out?”

“And trap her. Forever.”

Daud nodded. “Get the painting. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Below, Delilah continued. _"Brush touches paint, brush touches canvas, brush touches Void, and now I see you, Emily Kaldwin. I breathe your breath, I can feel what you do. Bright mornings in the pub, the cold night air of the ruin where you slept, and the stink of the river. Your home for so long after your mother's death. And now, back at the Tower where you belong, between soft sheets.”_

Daud refused to turn and watch as Corvo used Blink to traverse the chasm, evading Delilah’s statues of painted flesh. Instead, he observed Delilah. She’d taken so much from them already, and now what did she want? To live inside Emily’s body, to use her as her vessel to rule the Empire. Daud could only imagine what Dunwall would look like in her image.

Corvo appeared by his side. “I have it.”

 _"Image strikes the eye, eye touches the mind, mind touches the Void. I feel your love for Corvo Attano, and your lost mother. For Daud, and his Whalers — dreadful assassins and your doting protectors both. For your caretaker, Callista. I feel your fear in the night. Your hunger to learn, to become someone important. My hunger too. My fear. You are becoming_ mine _."_

They had heard enough. If they wanted to switch the paintings, they would have to incapacitate Delilah first.

“I’ll distract her,” Daud offered.

“She’s not going to go down without a fight.”

“Then neither are we.” Not waiting for Corvo's response, Daud transversed down, landing a few feet behind her.

“Daud,” the witch was immediately aware of his presence. “Not bad, sneaking in here past an entire coven and all my defences. Perhaps they should have called you the Mouse of Dunwall. It would fit, with the _rat_ ever by your side. Tell me, where is Corvo?”

“I have a better question,” Daud shot back, “where’s your sense?”

With measured movements, Delilah put down her brush and palette, then turned to face him. “Is that really all you’ve got?”

“You tell me,” Daud challenged.

“Oh, Daud. I will take such pleasure in taking _everything_ from you. Assuming, of course, you make it out of here... alive!” With a cry, she drew her sword and slashed at him. Daud reared back, anticipating her attack.

Through the Void echoed an unearthly shriek. Behind him, he recognised the sound of Thorns.

“Daud! The statues, they're alive,” Corvo’s voice came calling from above.

“Get them,” Daud bellowed back, parrying Delilah’s next blow and knocking her to the side, away from the painting. Within an instant, she’d dissolved into thin air. Turning, Daud saw… at least five of her. “Shit,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Transversing towards Corvo, Daud fell in so that they stood back to back.

“Incapacitate or kill?” Corvo asked, his blade ready.

“Whatever works,” Daud grunted, spotting one of Delilah’s clones behind a pillar of the arch they’d been hiding on. “Go.”

They broke contact and sprang forward, blades singing as they sliced through the air. Daud felt the Void crow inside him when the Bond their powers had built afforded them an awareness of each other when locked in combat that he hadn’t realised as such when they’d fought Granny Rags. He didn’t have to turn and look to know that Corvo was half-way across the island, hacking away at a Blood Briar blocking his path.

Daud himself felt one of the beasts, if one could call them that, wrapping around his arm as the clone of Delilah’s who’d summoned it, cackled. He pummelled the damn thing with his fist, yanking back his arm when it released, then cleaved it from the root with one strike of his sword. Delilah stopped laughing then. He advanced on her, feigning a dash and swiping at her ankles with his foot instead, knocking her off balance. Sleepdarting her was easy after that. A few feet away, another Delilah collapsed.

And so, the battle continued, Daud and Corvo going after Delilah one by one. Number three and number four fell easily. He was reloading his wrist bow when the fifth Delilah gave an outraged cry. Daud looked up, and found Corvo leaping through the air from the top of the arch, his folding blade raised high. Upon landing, he drove it deep into the Blood Briar, tearing it to ash. Delilah threw herself towards him then, but Corvo stood and, in one fluent movement, swivelled, using his own momentum to backhand her with his left, hard, knocking her to the ground.

Finally. The last of Delilah’s doppelgänger taken out, the only one left was the original. As one, Daud and Corvo turned to look for her.

There.

Arms wide, she stood in front of the painting of Emily, a falsely pleading expression on her face. Daud knew not to trust her submission as far as he could throw her.

"No," she called as they advanced on her. "You can’t do this! She took my life."

"You deserve this," Daud promised her. "And worse."

Beside him, Corvo raised his crossbow, sleep dart notched.

Delilah fell. They all did, in the end.

Daud bent to relieve her of her sword, then gathered up her unconscious form and carried her over to the altar as Corvo stepped towards the painting. They didn't have much time — like Corvo and Daud himself, her supernatural powers would have left Delilah with a heightened resistance to toxins. Depositing Delilah upon the marble, Daud regarded her solemnly. He knew to recognise some of that ugliness inside his own soul. He too had done much to turn innocent hearts to hate.

Turning, he saw Corvo raise a hand towards the painting Delilah had made of Emily — but not to take it right away. Corvo traced his fingers in the barely-dry paint, the colourful swirls mocking in their beauty, capturing one of the kindest spirits Daud had ever known. To condemn her to this, a living death as Delilah’s puppet… it was of a cruelty unknown even to him. He could not fathom what the things they had found in the studio and here in the Void had done to Corvo's heart; and he dreaded returning to the Tower to explain it to Emily. Dreaded having a quiet moment to think about it alone.

Eventually, Corvo cut the painting from its frame, exchanging it with the one he’d stolen. A tranquil scene, a tree in the Void. Peaceful. Lonely. Just lonely enough. Corvo turned and walked towards him.

"Did you take the brushes?" Daud asked. Corvo nodded. Daud drew the ritual notes he’d swiped off the altar during the fight from his pocket and offered him the note. Corvo shook his head.

"And what am I supposed to do with this?" Daud rasped.

Corvo took off his mask. "I exchanged the painting, for Emily. You cast her out. For Billie."

Daud averted his eyes lest they betray him, even if what he felt wasn't gratitude. He looked around. "Do we need anything else?"

"It’s all prepared," Corvo said.

Nothing for it, then. Daud cleared his throat, lifted the note.

Spoke the words.

_"Paint flows, blood flows, life goes."_

At the far end, the painting transformed into a swirling portal similar to the one through which they’d entered. On top of the altar, Delilah regained her senses. Sitting up and shaking her head as if to clear the cobwebs, she only needed a second to realise what was happening.

"No!" she cried. "You fools, what have you done!"

 _"Out with the old, in with the new,"_ Daud continued, and felt Corvo tense at his shoulder. Shakily, Delilah raised herself to her knees upon the altar.

"You’ll never reign the Empire, Delilah," Corvo called to her above the roar.

In her rage, Delilah snarled, then turned to Daud. "Did I not tell you I would take from you what you love most? You should learn to listen." Then, she lunged. But not for Daud.

As seemed to be his wont where Corvo was concerned, Daud did not think. He acted. He used his bulk and strength to knock Corvo aside, out of Delilah’s reach; but of course it put him squarely in her path. Daud felt her claws sink into his arm, the thorns of her garb biting through his sleeve. She tore at him.

 _"You’ve lived in these bones long enough,"_ he ground out, bracing himself against her pull on him.

She screamed again. And that was when Daud realised — the pull that he felt — it wasn’t Delilah’s hold. It was the portal; the Void itself, devouring everything in its scope as the ritual opened the breach between worlds.

Daud lost his footing.

Hurled across the altar, Delilah scrabbling at him to either save herself or, if nothing else, take him with her, Daud barely managed to grasp the edge of the stone, trying to shake off the witch.

"Daud!" Corvo. Rushing to help him, as he always would. Daud knew this to be true, but there was something else he knew. If Corvo got too close now, Delilah would take him with her, would take them both. And then what would Emily have left?

"No," Daud called over the din.

Corvo didn’t stop. Daud felt his grip slipping, and Delilah was already hysterical.

"Yes, Royal Protector, come closer, so the Void may take all of us!" she screamed.

Corvo was almost within reach now, and it was with startling clarity that Daud knew what he had to do.

"Corvo." At the sound of his voice, laced with pain, he knew, and the longing it was long too late to deny, Corvo stopped in his tracks.

 _Tell him. Tell him. Tell him._ Voices were whispering inside his head. _Tell him._

 _So I must,_ Daud decided, as Corvo’s Mark began to glow and whisper. _The only way I can._ ‘Because this will end,’ Daud had said to Corvo, trying to explain why what was growing between them could not receive a voice, could not be given over to reality before Daud let it tear him apart. And now, it would. Corvo might still be wearing his mask, but Daud's had been ripped from him long ago. He only wished he could have seen Corvo's face one last time.

He let go of the altar.

The last thing Daud heard was Corvo’s anguished cry, drowning out even Delilah’s maniacal cackling in his ear. Then, everything — turned to nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) If you wanna, like, kill me right now, I entirely understand. Just remember: I haven't actually written Part 3 yet, so if you murder me in my sleep now, you're not getting that resolution you're craving.  
> b) Also I have this terrible pattern of starting really awful chapters with the worst amount of fluff, I've discovered... after writing that kiss on the Undine... I facepalmed for a solid minute.  
> c) Speaking of: Daud is flirting and thinking, "@ self: where am I getting this drivel, and how many trashy romance novels have I absorbed by osmosis??" Heyyyy Whalers who hide their copies of _Prince of Tyvia_ , we see you.  
> d) Up on deck, Fergus makes to fetch Daud and Corvo when they see the smoke, but Galia holds him back and shakes her head, like 'you really wanna go down there now? yeah good luck mate'  
> e) seriously, the way Daud asks Overseer ~~Pratfall~~ Pradclif, "What happened to you?" in the original Brigmore Witches is unrelentingly hilarious to me, because he’s just like… "man, you look like shit." A+++ to Michael Madsen on delivery there.
> 
> EDIT: I really hadn’t considered that people would think I’d put a 15-year gap in now and then have Daud reappear just before the plot of DH2 kicks off like oh my gOD no no no that's not what's happening here I promise
> 
> Links to all notes and journal entries (obviously I expanded Delilah's Journal):  
> \- http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Overseer_Pradclif  
> \- http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Delilah%27s_Musings  
> \- http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Delilah%27s_Notes  
> \- http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/A_Poem_by_Delilah  
> \- http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Delilah%27s_Journal  
> \- http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Help_On_Your_Assignment  
> \- http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Overseer%27s_Orders  
> \- http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Delilah%27s_Orders  
> \- http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Outsider_Shrines/Speeches


	17. Who in mortal chains, who in power (Corvo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The painting sat on its easel, unremarkable to all the world. Corvo fought down the panic, the Void inside him howling for destruction in a way he hadn’t known since… but Daud was not lost. He could not be lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never have I ever been so delighted as by all the heartfelt FUCK YOUs you lot tossed at my head last week; and I am BACK to collect some more. I love you all, but I'm also an asshole. ~~You'll hate me even more when I unleash the fluff, but you'll all have conveniently forgotten this prediction by then.~~
> 
> By the power vested in me I do declare that the first chapter of Part 3, **You Know Who I Am** , will be posted on **December 29, 2017**. I've got 12 chapters planned. Tagline: Corvo's Void Quest for Bae.
> 
> This week's song drama: [Least Favorite Life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dFh71_ftxLE&index=34&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).
> 
> Oh and this: [is my cat](https://screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse.tumblr.com/post/167459594045/a-photo-story). Her name is Donna, she likes to sleep on me while I write, and she understands. She owns a white rat plushie because her mama is a dork, and sometimes she chews on it. She'll be your cheerer-upper for this chapter.

"No! Daud!" Corvo set off towards the painting at a run, but it was too late. The portal had closed. "No. No no no, no," he muttered, running his hands along the edges of the frame as if hoping for a hidden switch, which of course there was none. "Daud," he whispered.

The painting sat on its easel, unremarkable to all the world. Corvo fought down the panic, the Void inside him howling for destruction in a way he hadn’t known since… but Daud was not lost. He could not be lost.

“Outsider,” he muttered into nothing then called for Him again, louder. “Outsider! Didn't you promise you'd _watch_?”

Silence met him. _He walks among us, yet where is our god when we need Him?_ Corvo thought bitterly. The Void wanted him on his knees, he knew. He would not give in. There was nothing he could do now. Daud’s eyes, just before—no. Corvo squeezed his eyes shut. If he thought about this now, he would never make it out.

Slowly, he pulled himself together. When they’d lost Jess, he’d gone numb, shut down; but he’d only been able to because Daud had been there to pick up the pieces, if only for a few hours. He did not have that same luxury now. How had Daud done it? How had he explained to the Whalers what had happened, that the plan had changed? With him gone, Corvo did not delude himself they’d accept his authority unquestioningly. He did not delude himself they wouldn’t blame him.

He hung his head, taking a deep, steadying breath.

He would have to explain. To the Whalers. To Stride. To… to Emily. He’d sworn, he thought, his throat going tight. He’d vowed not to have her lose someone else she loved. And she did love Daud, he knew. He’d failed. Failed her, failed the Whalers. Failed Daud.

Just as he’d failed Jess. The Heart was silent, and Corvo couldn’t bear its presence. Not now.

Setting one foot in front of the other, he walked back toward the painting. He lifted the frame as it was, the replaced painting not sitting perfectly inside it, but he’d switched them in a hurry. He would take this, back to Dunwall. _The lantern_ , he thought. _I’ll need it to return_. Corvo took what he could carry and left the Void.

Struggling through the breach, he saw that Galia and the others were waiting for him.

“Corvo, are you alright?” Thomas wasted no time in asking, reaching out.

In that moment, Corvo was glad for his mask.

“Back to the Undine,” he commanded, hoping to the Void they’d listen at least until Dunwall.

“Corvo, come on,” Galia demanded, but it carried a pleading edge. "Where's Daud?"

“Back to the Undine,” Corvo repeated, tone brooking no argument. He could not stomach the thought of explaining over and over what had happened. How many times would he have to? And how many times could he without losing it?

“Gettin' back’s gonna be slow, though,” Fergus spoke up. “We tried Transversals, and nothin’. Whatever you and the boss did, we're cut off.”

Corvo was struck by the sudden realisation, his carefully collected thoughts sent reeling. If Daud's banishment had severed the Arcane Bond, they already knew something was wrong. Worse, there were Whalers out on patrol alone tonight, by sheer necessity. If any of them tried to transverse unawares...

“I will explain everything at the Hound Pits,” he said quietly, “but we have to hurry.”

The Whalers didn’t speak, their own masks as impenetrable as his.

“Please,” he added.

Silence descended, but eventually, Rulfio spoke.

“Corvo, just tell us. Is he… is Daud dead?” He sounded tired, Corvo could tell even through the filter.

“No," Corvo vowed quietly, putting whatever confidence he had left into that one word. "I promise I’ll make sense of this. But we have to go back.”

Slowly, Rulfio nodded. The others looked to him for guidance, including Thomas, and Corvo saw some of the tension drain out of them as well.

“What about the witches?” Rapha asked.

“As soon as we're back at the Tower, we’re going to send a courier to Callista’s uncle, with orders to search the manor and arrest anyone who’s… loitering,” Corvo responded over his shoulder, blinking up into the gallery and only then remembering that the others couldn’t. He stopped and waited, not surprised when he heard furniture scraping from below and then saw Rulfio pulling himself up.

“Hold on.” Corvo set down the painting of Delilah’s island. He blinked down to gather the lantern and the painting of the entrance to the Void, huge as it was. Once back up, he saw Aedan had already picked up the other one.

“Billie said her art was shite,” he said acidly.

“Careful with that one,” Corvo rasped, nerves too frayed to even balk at the mention of Lurk. “Not a scratch.”

Aedan shot him a look, but didn’t say anything else. He would understand soon enough.

*

On the ship, Stride squinted at them, only the whale oil lantern her navigator was holding illuminating her ragged features.

“Where’s Daud?”

“Take us back to Dunwall,” Corvo ignored her question, knowing full well he shouldn’t.

“Where is Daud?” Stride asked again, sharper this time, which only served to put her crew on edge. Her anger, however, sparked Corvo’s own, and perhaps that was what he needed, before it was too late and all he'd have left to give was heartache.

“Stay out of this, Stride,” Corvo growled, his voice so deep it resonated, grotesquely distorted by the mask, giving even the fearless captain reason to step back.

Aboard the Undine, Corvo kept himself apart, wary of questions, if not accusations. The paintings and the lantern were below deck, where he and the Whalers would have to hide themselves away again soon to get through the blockade. He would leave the paintings with Stride until he could come and fetch them himself, for now they were too cumbersome to transport all the way back to the Flooded District. He didn’t like the thought, but perhaps if he told her to keep an eye on them if she ever wanted to see Daud again, she’d listen and, more importantly, keep her crew from using them for cinder.

His gaze on the horizon, he locked away the fear and guilt and horror.

*

Back in Dunwall proper, they made for the Hound Pits pub first, travelling through the sewers. Corvo refused to use his powers to travel ahead, instead sticking with the Whalers, using only his Dark Vision to scout for river krust. The trek was arduous and passed in silence, and Corvo tried not to feel as though he had to watch out for knives at his back.

At the Hound Pits, many of the Whalers who had been out on patrol seemed to have arrived in the meantime, gathered in the taproom, but Corvo didn’t have to count to know there were more than a few still missing. Corvo reached for the first Whaler he saw when coming through the door.

“Killian, how many have returned?”

Killian removed his mask, evidently deeming it safe to do so now. “About twenty, sir. Still missing seven, except of course for those who were stationed at the Tower, as you and Master Daud ordered. Sir, what happened? Dmitri and me, we felt all… tingly, and then suddenly our powers were out. We figured we should come back, then, even if it felt wrong to abandon our posts.” His young face looked drawn with worry. None of the Whalers who shared the Arcane Bond could have had any illusions about what this _could_ mean.

“You did the right thing,” Corvo put his hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “I have to go upstairs for a moment, but I’ll be right back.” Before Killian could protest, he made for the stairs. He had a message to send.

For emergencies, Samuel had installed a flare launcher in Emily’s room while they’d been still living here with Daud and the Whalers. Now that they were back at the Tower, another flare launcher had been set up in Emily’s rooms there, but this one had remained, in case the Whalers needed urgent help. Corvo knew that Samuel would be watching from somewhere along the river, especially tonight. His instructions had been to come and pick up both Corvo and Daud after they returned from Brigmore; but as things stood, he would have to make a few different trips after this.

Sure enough, Samuel reached the shore within minutes, and Corvo blinked down to meet him.

“Corvo!” the boatman called, obviously pleased to see him. “You’re back. You have no idea how glad I am.”

“Thank you, Samuel,” Corvo managed.

Samuel craned his neck to peer into the darkness behind him. “Where’s Daud? I’m assuming you want me to take the two of you to the Tower?”

Corvo shook his head. “I need you to do something else for me, Samuel. Take your boat deeper into the Flooded District, look for any Whalers who might be stranded.”

“Stranded?” Samuel asked, now clearly realising that something was wrong. “Corvo, what’s happened?”

“Please, Samuel, I don’t have time. For now, keep an eye out for Whalers who can’t leave their patrol spots.”

“But how? Can’t they, you know, do that Blinking thing you and Daud do?”

“Not at the moment,” Corvo answered grimly.

Samuel looked as though he had a hundred more questions, but then seemed to think better of it, recognising the severity of what Corvo was asking. “Alright, I’ll go.”

“Don’t try to help them down, just note their positions and tell them that help is on the way.”

“Will do,” Samuel nodded.

“Good. Go,” Corvo told him. He watched as Samuel climbed into his boat and cast off, then turned back towards the pub, his steps feeling as though lead weights had been bound to his feet. He had to return to the Tower as soon as possible, but there was no chance they’d gather all the Whalers together before dawn, if any were truly stuck on rooftops. It wasn’t that the Whalers weren’t experienced climbers – the trouble was that patrols often had to pass through areas infested with Weepers or river krust, or both, and without at least Transversal, those parts of the district were too dangerous to navigate for those Whalers for whom the Arcane Bond had never taken hold. And now, for all of them.

Coming up on the door, he removed his mask.

Making his way into the taproom, Corvo found the Whalers more settled than they’d been when he’d arrived; but with Rulfio and the other five who’d been at Brigmore startlingly the centre of attention as they were hounded for an explanation. As he entered, however, that attention shifted to him.

The masks were off now, and Corvo knew every single one of these faces. Had lived with them, trained with them, watched as Daud helped them hone their abilities even knowing this was the Whalers’ last call, making sure they were at their best for as long as they were needed. Emily had learnt to trust them, and they had proven themselves worthy of that trust.

Now, Corvo would have to shatter their faith in him.

Eventually, the room had fallen completely silent.

“Your powers are gone because… because Daud has been taken,” he rasped, willing his voice not to break even as he barely had to raise it to be heard. “At Brigmore, we rounded up Delilah’s coven, and found out what she’s been scheming. Delilah was planning a ritual. A painting, through which she wanted to possess Emily. Daud and I, we switched out the paintings, and performed the ritual to banish her. We had her, we—thought we had her, but she attacked Daud. I—I couldn't get to him in time, and he was torn into the portal with her,” Corvo finished, shame and guilt making every inch of him feel as if it burnt and bled. If they’d been there, they might understand his grief. If they’d been there, they’d have even more cause to hate him.

“So where is he?” Galia asked, the mask that she wore when Daud called to order, the one all Whalers wore, slipping.

“In the Void.” No-one spoke. Corvo looked around. Indecision, disbelief… grief, barely yet realised. Compassion, too. He was reminded, sickly, of the way he’d attacked Daud only hours after Jessamine had succumbed to her wounds, and how the way they'd looked at him had changed then, only for Daud to hold them together with a raise of his hand. “We fought this, side by side,” his voice finally cracking at the image his words conjured, another race lost against time. Would they despise him for his weakness, he wondered. "I'm sorry. I let you down."

“Corvo,” Thomas spoke up; and this would be another test. Daud had appointed him Lurk’s successor – and thus his own, in the event of his capture, injury… death. The Whalers had accepted this move without putting up a fight, even if Thomas was several years the masters’ junior. Rulfio or Galia, Aedan or even Rinaldo would have been more obvious choices. In this, then, Thomas would have to prove his mettle.

“You took the paintings with you. Why?” Thomas continued.

Corvo straightened his shoulders. “Daud is not lost. Delilah’s paintings of the Void and the lantern that she made are part of the ritual. And I’m going to reverse it.”

“How?” Quinn interrupted.

“I will find out.”

“And bring the witch back with you?” Rulfio asked, wariness all over his face.

“I’ll find a way,” Corvo insisted. Paralysed with shock before, the Whalers were rallying now.

“And how long will that take?” Aedan.

“Want us to join the Watch, then, like Rinaldo and the other two dickheads?” Fergus scoffed. “Yeah, bloody likely.”

“Shut up, Fraeport,” Quinn barked as she knocked him upside the head. “Better than dying in the gutter.”

“Wouldn’t have to if I could transverse, would I?” Fergus shot back. Murmurs were starting up amongst the others, some reminding Fergus that not all of them had shared in Daud's powers to begin with, and Corvo felt the situation slip out of his hands. For a surreal moment, he found himself wondering, what would Daud do? What would Daud do...

“Enough,” he called, and miraculously the chatter ceased. “Wait for Samuel to return before you set out to find the missing. I’ll go to the Tower and send the others back here. I'll return tomorrow, as soon as I can.” He bent his head, collecting himself. He'd just given _orders_. Looking back up, he found the Whalers watching him. "Daud needs your – our – help. Think of what he did for you. And then decide what you would do for him." He turned, making for the door.

Galia’s voice stopped him. “We’ve repaid him ten times over. All of us have.”

Corvo looked at her over his shoulder. “Loyalty is more than a debt repaid.”

“You should have just killed her,” she said bitterly.

He left.

He was half-way down the yard when he heard the door open and steps behind him. Corvo stopped, but didn't turn.

"Sir. They'll come around. They know that you—Master Daud... he trusted you."

"Go back inside, Hobson." Contempt, he thought, would have been easier than this.

"Sir."

* * *

Samuel had not yet returned, so Corvo took the detour via Kaldwin’s bridge, reluctant to travel through the sewers, even if he could freely make use of Blink from now on.

This first confrontation with the Whalers had drained him. He had promised to deliver them from witches, and instead had delivered them horrific news. He claimed that Daud was not dead, but with their Void connection severed and no proof, they would have to take his word for it. They were frightened, same as he, had lost their mentor and leader and were left with nought but a promise they'd see him again.

But Corvo also knew that, if they'd had a mind to, they could have carved him up right then and there. But somehow, over the past year, they'd listened to him, followed his instructions, reluctant as he'd been to name them orders in Daud's presence, and laid their lives on the line during the Surge — and since — to protect Emily. Few, perhaps, had loved Daud as fiercely as Billie Lurk, but they all did, even if they'd never say it. Without him, Dunwall would not be the same, and Corvo knew well enough that not all of them would stay. Those who believed him would come around, and he would see that they were taken care of. He owed them as much — owed Daud even more.

As no-one had seen the Lord Protector leave, it would be prudent to return to his chambers the way he’d gone. Scaling the Tower walls, Corvo allowed himself to wonder how many times Daud had taken this route in the past year. How many times he’d dangled from a ledge in the shadows, freezing when a guard above made a sudden turn. How many times he’d turned towards the skyline of Dunwall, so familiar and yet so strange in the moonlight. How many times had they done so, together, during their nights out on the rooftops?

Perched there now, the Wrenhaven passing unheard below... Corvo was alone.

* * *

He climbed through a locked air vent, dropping into a hallway one floor down from his quarters. No-one was about, so he quickly took off his mask and made his way up. He glanced at one of the grandfather clocks as he passed. It was time for shift change soon, the best opportunity to get the Whalers off the grounds. Rinaldo, Kieron and Montgomery could help clear a path.

Outside his rooms, Rinaldo stood guard.

“Corvo,” he said as soon as he spotted him. “Did you—?”

“It's done,” Corvo nodded, hoping his face wouldn’t betray him immediately.

“Outsider’s eyes. Look, I don’t—something’s wrong with my powers. I started feeling… strange a few hours ago, like one of the Overseers was standing next to me with a Music Box. Did something happen?”

“You should gather the others and return to the pub. Thomas will explain, and I'll be back tomorrow.” Corvo hated himself in that moment. Hated himself for dodging the question, for not telling Rinaldo the truth, for sending him away.

Giving him a searching look, Rinaldo nodded slowly. “Alright. Emily’s asleep, Callista is with her. I’ll collect the others before shift change.”

“Thank you.”

With another side-long glance, Rinaldo set off down the hall.

As soon as he was out of sight, Corvo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, he unlocked the door.

Callista and Emily were curled up underneath a thick blanket on the settee in front of the hearth, Emily indeed fast asleep against Callista’s side, who looked to be well on her way to sleep herself, the book she was reading tilting in her lap. At his entrance, she looked up in alarm.

“Corvo,” she whispered. “Thank the stars you’re back.”

Corvo silently made his way over, kneeling in front of the settee to brush his hand over Emily’s hair. She barely stirred.

“She fell asleep a while ago,” Callista murmured. “Wanted so badly to wait up until you and Daud returned.” As if registering Daud’s absence only then, Callista looked towards the door, then the window. “Where is he?”

“I’ll explain later,” Corvo whispered, thankful that his voice couldn’t betray him this way. “Thank you for staying with her, and for keeping watch. You should go, get some rest. Emily can stay here. And sleep in, there’s no rush.”

Callista regarded him for a moment, but if she could tell that something was wrong, she was kind enough not to push. “Okay. Good night, Corvo. Or what’s left of it.” Carefully, she extricated herself from the duvet and Emily’s weight against her and got up. She gathered her book and her shoes, Corvo noted, then made to leave the room, only she paused in the doorway.

“If it’s bad news, don’t wait until the morning,” she surprised Corvo; but before he could say anything, she'd already left the room and closed the door behind her.

Looking down at Emily, Corvo sighed. She was right. And he did not have the excuse of waiting for her to wake this time.

“Emily,” he said quietly, setting his hand on her arm. “Emily, wake up. Wake up.” He watched her face as she stirred, slowly being pulled towards consciousness by his presence.

“Corvo?” she mumbled sleepily, working one hand out from the blanket to rub at her eyes.

“It’s me.”

“You’re back,” her excitement still weighed down by sleep, Emily fought to sit upright, then let herself pitch forward, into his arms. “You’re back!”

Corvo held her tightly, the terror of what he would have to tell her warring with relief at knowing she was safe. Safe from Delilah’s schemes, safe from the Brigmore witches. His little girl.

Emily pulled back and looked up, as though naturally expecting Daud to be there, at Corvo’s shoulder and towering above them both. Corvo watched as confusion overshadowed her smile. “Where’s Daud? Did—did he not want to come?”

She sat up and Corvo, still kneeling before her, took her hands in his. He couldn’t speak, the words would not come.

“Corvo?”

Still, he could not speak, could not look her in the eye.

“No,” Emily whispered then. “No, Corvo, please…”

Was she thinking of that morning, too? When he’d come to bring her the news of her mother’s death; now, when he came to tell her someone else she loved had been taken by the Void?

“At Brigmore, the witches were helping Delilah complete a ritual,” he began. "Delilah, she was going to possess you, to take over the throne. She was practising magic, powerful enough to use a painting of you to cast your spirit out and let her inside," Corvo stopped himself there, not wanting to frighten her even more. "We found her at an altar in the Void, she… she was all but ready. Short of killing her, we saw no option but to turn the ritual against her, so we switched the paintings and knocked her out. Daud performed the ritual. The magic woke her and she attacked—she attacked me. She wanted me. But Daud, he… he put himself in her path. For me."

Finally, he looked up. Tears were spilling from Emily’s eyes now, her hands still clasped in his.

"When the portal opened, they were pulled into it. Daud, he was clinging to the altar with one hand, fighting Delilah with the other. I tried to help him, but he looked at me and told me no; and when I came closer, he—" Corvo couldn't bring himself to tell her. "They were pulled into the Void, and the portal closed. I was too late. I’m sorry. Em, I’m so sorry," he choked, his throat seizing, and he closed his eyes in shame.

The next thing he knew, Emily was hugging him, and crying into his chest. He embraced her tightly, seeking comfort in her as she did in him.

"He’s not dead, Em," he whispered. "I know it. And I will find him, I promise. I will bring him back to us."

He felt her nod against his shoulder.

They remained like this until, slowly, Emily stopped crying and eventually drifted back off to sleep, exhaustion overtaking her. Corvo picked her up and carried her over to his bed, tucking her in. He stayed, sitting on the edge of the mattress, brushing his hand over her hair for a few minutes, watching and making sure she was settled.

Once he was sure she was fast asleep, he slowly got up. There was somewhere he needed to be.

*

Out past the guards patrolling the corridors, out past the yard and the royal gardens, Corvo made his way to the gazebo. It wasn’t unusual for him to be down here this early, either to train the recruits or to make his own rounds when he couldn’t sleep.

He had approved the plans for the placement of Jessamine’s tombstone just weeks ago; had shown Daud the specifications and asked him what he thought.

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” Daud had rumbled, but had still looked over his shoulder. “Where will it go?”

“The gazebo. A second one will be made to be used for the official memorial,” Corvo had answered, tracing his fingers over the graphite drawings and blueprints.

“It’ll do,” was all Daud had said. And that had been enough.

Now, he stood staring at the spot where the tombstone would be set, the foundations for it already laid.

“Jess,” he whispered.

 _Corvo_.

The Heart had been silent all night. Until now. Delicately, he removed it from the inside of his coat.

"He’s gone, Jess," Corvo rasped. "You’re both gone."

 _Daud is not yet lost to you_ , the Heart whispered. _Corvo, if you love him, do not give up. If you love_ me _, you will not give up now._

Corvo blinked against the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. "What am I to do?"

_You know what to do. You knew the moment the portal closed._

"Stumble through the Void, searching for him? For how long?"

_As long as it takes._

Corvo put his hand over his eyes, choking back a sob. "What about you? What if I could have found you, and now I’m too late?"

 _Corvo_ , she soothed him gently. _It was always too late for me, as it was not magic that took me. But it's not too late for Daud. Keep searching, and I will guide you._

"I can’t ask you to do that."

_You don’t need to ask. You never needed to._

"I can’t… I won't trap you in this vessel forever."

_It won’t be forever, then. Just until you find him. We will find him._

"Jess…" Corvo’s voice broke on her name. "He... he let go. Why would he let go?"

_I told you. There was a different dream in his heart._

"Of what," he whispered.

_Of a good man._

As the sun rose in the East, Corvo finally felt himself fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) You know you've really forked yourself when splitting the Whalers into several smaller groups is the smartest thing to do mission-wise, but the worst fucking thing 'Corvo has to explain what happened a bazillion times now'-wise, and I gotta tell ya, I hate my past self.  
> b) Brutal editing. All the brutal editing. I rewrote the scene at the pub sooo many times because I wanted to have the right mixture of the Whalers dealing with their own shock and grief and knowing how much pain Corvo must be in. I've sort of glossed over their precise relationship with Corvo before — they've come to like him, clearly, and they adore Emily. They respect his authority, but more than that they trust him, and I think Corvo severely underestimates how much. But now Daud's gone, and it won't just all snap into place right then, simply because they didn't see what happened.  
> c) EMILY I'M SO SORRY I TOOK YOUR SAD ASSASSIN PAPA AWAY I PROMISE I'LL GIVE HIM BACK.  
> d) Jess. Jess, you are too good for this world. ~~That's why you're in the Void ahahaha that was uncalled for~~


	18. And who shall I say is calling? (Daud)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud wakes in the Void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The final chapter of Who By Fire, and the completion of my Dishonored 1 rewrite! We made it!
> 
> Posting early because... why torture you with waiting, and also it's my mum's birthday. (Now it's just waiting until Christmas, aahahah.)
> 
> The only true epilogue soundtrack: [Honor for All](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gFQwn6M1RMc&index=35&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).  
> The playlist is also available on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/ama_23/playlist/2Z4scYeDqJb2kfZLOZrqF2?si=ZDhV_FDrTDuoxniAcccOrw).  
> eBook versions available: [Vol. 1](https://jmp.sh/ncha6gQ) & [Vol. 2](https://jmp.sh/293BHH9).
> 
> Thank you all for your comments, kudos, and headcanons — writing this for you gives me so much joy, and I hope I'll see you all again for Part 3! <3 <3 <3
> 
> Until then, hugs and kisses,  
> Andrea

When Daud opened his eyes, he was alone. The Void stretched endlessly before him, and for a moment he doubted he knew whether he was right side up or down. He was on his back, in any case, feeling rigid and cold, and he supposed it was something to feel at all. As though having spent a month in traction, he slowly searched for sensation in his limbs, and actually moving he couldn’t shake the illusion that it wasn’t him at all, that he was watching his body pose itself like a ragdoll. But he sat up, carefully, wincing when his back twinged, the ground beneath him unforgiving. Pulling up a knee to rest his elbow on it, he looked around.

He found nothing. He was stuck on a small island of rock, cobblestones framing a patch of grass, a street lantern flickering overhead, a scene torn out from the streets of Dunwall, one of the few permanent fixtures in the representations of the Void as he’d known them. A few more were dotted throughout what of the Void he could see.

No sign of Delilah, or of anything that looked like the painting her ritual had flung them into. Daud wondered at that – if her painting of Emily had been designed to cast her into the girl’s skin, then why weren’t they part of the same scene she’d painted now? Unless, of course, she’d come back to herself before him and flung him out into the dark.

Looking down at his left hand, he barely dared to try. But when he clenched his fist and opened himself to the reach of the Void, it slammed into him with a ferocity that forced the air from his lungs. Gasping, he had to narrow his eyes – his Mark was _incandescent_. Had it ever been so bright? Perhaps at the very beginning, Daud fancied, he’d always suspected the spark had dulled over the years.

“Outsider’s eyes,” he breathed. He let go and got up, oddly grateful when his knees didn’t buckle. At random, he aimed for one of the other platforms and transversed – and nearly overshot. Decades of experience and quick reflexes saved him from toppling into the abyss. If the Whalers could see him now, they’d make fun of him for his scolding them when they were young and still grappling with Transversals, impatiently attempting to fly before they could jump, to bastardise the expression.

But the Whalers couldn’t see him, and when Daud righted himself, he gritted his teeth and swallowed down the hitch in his breath.

Emily was safe. Corvo was safe. The Whalers… Daud knew that Corvo would take care of them – if they let him.

Safe. Daud closed his eyes and focused. Emily on her throne, Corvo by her side, and the Whalers watching from the shadows. It was an imperfect future – because Emily was still so young, because Corvo had lost too much for one life to bear, because the Whalers were supposed to find a better life without him. It was the only future he had been able to give them.

If this was the price – he’d pay it gladly. Only it wasn’t him alone that paid it. He’d done the one thing Billie had so bluntly accused him of: he’d abandoned the Whalers. He’d done it for a promise, for loyalty and for love. This, he could admit to himself. If they’d been there, they would have understood. If they’d been there, they might have hated him. Hadn’t he always preached that sentiment would get them killed? And again, he’d chosen Corvo over them.

_Count the cost, then, Daud._

Daud didn’t turn towards the voice.

“You got here quick.”

 _Time holds no meaning for us anymore._ The shadows moved, and then the Outsider was hovering before him. _Worth it, then?_

“What do you know about sacrifice?” Daud muttered darkly.

The Outsider tilted His head. _The truth is closer than you think_.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Void, if being trapped here meant an eternity of _this_ …

 _And to think, where you started,_ the Outsider went on as if he hadn’t spoken. _Daud, killer turned guardian. They should have named you Royal Protector._

Daud rolled his eyes. “Go chase down the other one, if you’re so desperate for company,” he suggested.

 _Curious, isn’t it? The two of you. Two of my Marked, right here in the Void. In the cold. Forever._ Here, the Outsider turned His dark, dark eyes to look straight into Daud, through him, and he felt as though one of Sokolov’s test subjects.

Daud didn’t rise to the bait.

 _Unless_ … the Outsider hissed, the sound winding itself around Daud’s ankles like a snake, ready for him to try and move, to trip and fall and break his neck.

“I’ve no interest in false hope,” he growled, trying to stop his mind from racing. The ritual couldn’t be reversed, he knew, the runes and sigils too complex – magic of Delilah’s own making, no less, part of her and inextricable.

 _Corvo will try_ , the Outsider read his mind mercilessly.

“He wouldn’t take such a risk,” he said, bravado dragging him through. If he did, and it went wrong... Emily all alone...

_Not even for you?_

“Especially not for me, and spare me your guile,” Daud spat.

_What makes you so certain?_

“He knows I’d tell him not to.” He had to believe Corvo knew him this well.

 _And you’re so good at telling him no_.

“Shut your mouth,” Daud barked, and if he’d been 20 years younger, there’d been a rude gesture to go with that. “Corvo and I—I’m not discussing him with you.” When the Outsider didn’t budge, he sighed. “What do you want with me? And whatever it is, can’t it wait? I’m here forever,” Daud spread his arms wide, encompassing the Void in all its nothingness; and if he were the kind to angrily stomp off during an argument, he’d be pissed as rats right now that he couldn’t.

_Forever in the Void isn’t forever everywhere. The world will turn without you now as it did with you in it, and those who you left behind will feel it keenly._

Daud ground his teeth, doing his best to shutter the rage inside him, but in doing so he lost his hold on the one thought he’d never voiced, the question so often stuck in the back of his throat like a bad aftertaste.

“What do you see?”

He’d never asked, even at his most naïve he’d known better than to expect _advice_ from the Void. Never mind a warning. The Outsider, Void take him — and, well, it _had —_  regarded him with amusement.

_In two decades, you’ve never asked me about the future, not even to save your own hide; but for her, you’ll swallow your pride?_

Emily would always be in danger, Daud reminded himself. Of course the Outsider would name her as the reason, to get a rise out of him.

“Does it matter,” Daud asked rhetorically.

_I’m not sure. Does it? After all… you’re here forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) The anguished cry in the track is me, wailing.  
> b) Now that's a nice setup there, ain't it.  
> c) "And you're so good at telling him no." OUTSIDER YOU SHUT YOUR GOB omg Daud I'm so sorry I left you with the eternal shitposter  
> d) Anyone else got visions of the Outsider putting signs on the walls everywhere that read: Don't forget — you're here forever; and Daud just staples photos of Emily over them until it reads DO IT FOR HER oh hey why are we all crying


End file.
